Plum Justified 2:  Hollers to Doughnuts
by MsBrooklyn
Summary: By popular demand, the continuing adventures of Raylan Givens and Stephanie Plum in which things go boom, cake is eaten and bad guys get caught...eventually.  Aided and abetted by the incredible AndItsOuttaHere.
1. A Lawman Goes to Jersey

Plum Justified 2 - Hollers to Doughnuts

By MsBrooklyn

I don't own a thing. Not any of Janet Evanovich's characters (Stephanie Plum, Joe Morelli, Ranger and their supporting cast) nor any of Elmore Leonard's creations nor any of the creations that sprang forth from the creative minds behind Justified. The only creative thought I had was to smoosh these two worlds together. Hopefully, that's enough. By the way, this strange crossover between Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series and Justified fits kinda sorta in Season 3 and maybe around Explosive Eighteen.

A quick note of thanks to all who offered title suggestions. They were great and I'm going to use them for chapter names, so keep 'em coming.

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Chapter 1 – A Lawman Goes to Jersey

In the movies, the female bounty hunters wear high heels when they chase after their FTAs. They looks glamorous snapping the cuffs on without breaking a sweat, smudging their lip gloss or messing up their hair. The movies are full of shit.

My name is Stephanie Plum and I'm a bail enforcement agent in Trenton, New Jersey. Bail enforcement agent is a fancy way of saying bounty hunter. Either way, it means going after somebody who got arrested, bonded out by the Vincent Plum Agency and decided not to show up for their court date. These people are known as Failures to Appear or FTAs. If they don't get reprocessed, Vinnie is out the total amount of the bond money. That's where I come in. My job is to track down the FTAs and bring them back to the pokey to reschedule their court date. I get paid ten percent of the bond amount and usually, it's enough to pay the rent on my apartment and utilities and maybe have enough left over for essentials like beer and pizza.

What the movies never show are the boring hours spent searching for the FTA, doing surveillance. It was an early Spring day in the Burg, which meant the sun was shining and the humidity was high. Thunder showers were in the forecast. Lula and I were sitting in my 1998 Nissan Xterra, waiting for the recess bell to ring at the Immaculate Conception Grammar School. We had the windows rolled down but there was hardly a breeze and we were both sweaty and irritable.

"This is margarita weather," Lula said. "That old geezer don't show, I vote we have Mexican for lunch. I could go for some of them chimichangas."

Lula is a former ho who works as a file clerk at the bonds office. Sometimes she helps me with my cases, although most people wouldn't consider it helping. Today, Lula squeezed her plus-sized self into a shiny blue Spandex top and miniskirt and the tips of her hair and her nails were painted to match. The cobalt blue looked good against her dark brown skin but the color wasn't exactly subtle. Then again, neither was the Solar Yellow paint of my Xterra.

The old geezer in question was one Louie LaMarca, age 79. He had early stage Alzheimer's and was apparently reliving his glory days as the Burg's flasher extraordinaire. According to his file, LaMarca spent his twenties and thirties in and out of jail for flashing housewives and kids throughout the Burg. The next thirty years or so were a blank where he either didn't get caught or decided to stop displaying his doodle. Now LaMarca was a resident at the local assisted living facility and somehow managed to slip out to flash the girls and nuns at Immaculate Conception. Forty years ago, it made him an annoying pervert. In today's world, LaMarca was a sex offender. Even if he didn't remember doing it.

It was our third day of surveillance and we'd struck out at the assisted living home, LaMarca's old house and the local public school. LaMarca's arrests mostly were for flashing Catholic school girls and nuns so I was following my hunch he'd show up here again eventually.

"Spicy guacamole," Lula went on, "with them chips. We could go to Ixtaca. They got a five dollar margarita special."

Or I could eat at my parents' house and save the money to fix the Xterra's air conditioning. Right. "Margaritas sound good. The bell is about to ring. Give it until the end of recess and then we'll go."

"Sounds like a plan."

The bell rang and the girls filed out into the schoolyard. They looked like little angels in their cute plaid skirts and crisp white shirts. I knew better. The second school got out for the day, the ones in their teens would be lighting up cigarettes and cursing a blue streak. At least the little ones still had a couple of years left to be cute and innocent.

Suddenly, there were shrieks at the far end of the school yard, followed by the nuns trying to herd the girls away. The cause of the commotion was LaMarca who was buck naked except for a pair of black support socks and white orthopedic sneakers. I raced out of the Xterra but LaMarca just stood there, waggling his wonkie at me.

"Ever seen one like this?" he asked, giving it an extra shake in my direction.

I stared down at it. Once upon a time, it might have been a thing of beauty but now it was limp, wrinkled and depressing. "It's very nice," I told him. "Maybe you'd like to show it to the judge. You missed your court date and I heard he was really disappointed he didn't get to see it for himself."

"You mind if I go get my coat? There's a breeze." He smiled at me and I noticed that he'd lost his dentures since his escape from the nursing home.

"That's fine." He was 79 and scrawny. I figured I'd be fine, even though I'd left my bag with my cuffs back in the truck with Lula.

LaMarca led me around to the back of the school where the dumpsters were. It looked like he'd set up a little camp back here. There was a big cardboard box that he probably used for shelter. A few of the garbage bags had been torn open and I figured that was how he'd been feeding himself. It was pretty sad and I felt sorry for him.

The next thing I knew a set of dentures flew through the air and hit me in the face, scaring the crap out of me. I screamed. LaMarca started to run but I tackled him and we landed on the open garbage bags. We rolled in half eaten sandwiches and fruit and spoiled milk. There were other smells I didn't want to think about. And then there was another horrifying smell.

"Uh-oh. I messed myself." LaMarca stared up at me, wide-eyed. "You're not gonna tell on me, are you?"

I heard footsteps behind me. "Lula, give me my cuffs, would you?"

Hands reached past me, snapping the cuffs onto LaMarca, but they weren't Lula's. They were male with long fingers and a horse shoe ring on the right ring finger. A pair of Tony Lama boots came into my line of vision and they were attached to a pair of long, lean legs encased in a pair of tight jeans. "You don't mind borrowin' mine, do you?"

I stared up at Raylan Givens, a US Marshal that I worked with in Kentucky when I went after Dewey Crowe. Givens was in his early forties, with a slim build and the most intense pair of eyes ever to stare out from under a cowboy hat. He was the only person ever to think I was good at being a bounty hunter. Until now, probably.

Givens helped me to my feet and picked a bread crust from my hair. His eyes swept over me and then he looked down at LaMarca, who'd just fallen asleep. "He's kinda old to be wavin' his wanger at school girls, isn't he? Poor girls are probably traumatized from seein' that scary ol' thing an' they'll end up takin' vows as nuns so they never have to see another one again."

"LaMarca's got Alzheimer's," I explained. "He probably thinks he's in his twenties."

"And he's been livin' back here, eatin' garbage." He sighed. "Didn't do his old stomach any favors." Givens kneeled and shook LaMarca. "Wake up, buddy. It's time to go."

"Good. It smells like poop here." LaMarca narrowed his eyes at me. "Must've been you. Miss Poopy Pants."

At least I was wearing pants, even if they were covered in LaMarca's poop and spoiled school lunches. I picked up his dentures and held them out to Givens. "He'll probably need these later."

"Hold on, this old geezer ain't my FTA," Givens said. "He's yours. I can come with you if you want but you have to bring him in."

I blew out a sigh and steered LaMarca towards my Xterra. It was gone. Lula probably saw Givens and his Town Car, made him for a cop and took off. Because of her past profession, Lula was uncomfortable around cops. "I don't suppose you could give me a ride?"

"Car got stolen?" he asked.

"My partner decided to break for lunch. She wanted Mexican."

Givens grinned. "This is why marshals usually work alone."

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We parked in the parking lot adjacent to the municipal building and I reached across the back seat to wake LaMarca. "Last stop."

"You smell like poop," he told me, opening his eyes and scowling.

I blew out a frustrated breath. "You're naked."

LaMarca looked down at himself, then at the handcuffs and then at me, eyes going wide in horror. "Ohmigod! Help! Rape! Somebody help me!"

Givens turned around in the driver's seat, holding up his badge where LaMarca could see it. "I'll help you. I'm gonna take you right in there," he said, pointing to the back door where the docket clerk was, "an' you can tell 'em all about what this nasty woman did to you. Sound good?"

"Okay," LaMarca agreed.

I climbed out of the car and came around to LaMarca's side to help him out. He'd fallen asleep again and was snoring. "Hey, wake up!"

His watery brown eyes looked at me. "Where are we?"

Suddenly, I had an idea how to get him into the building. "We're in the Immaculate Conception parking lot. That's the stage door and the girls are having an assembly."

LaMarca leaped out of the car and his Mister Happy was sticking straight up as he ran inside the door. Well, running was being kind. It was more like running in slow motion. I strolled behind him and Givens leaned back against the Lincoln, watching me with a big smile.

When I came out with my body receipt, Givens was talking to Carl Costanza and his partner, Big Dog. Carl and I went to school together and that made us sort of friends.

Carl turned around, saw me and grinned. "I hear you got another dangerous septuagenarian off our streets."

"Shitty work. Good thing you're around to handle it," Big Dog put in.

They both guffawed but Givens didn't join in. He levered himself off the Town Car, adjusted his cowboy hat and looked at them. The laughter died immediately. Givens' hand dropped to his gun, drawing Carl and Big Dog's attention to the shiny Marshal's Service star next to his holster.

"I've brought in plenty of dangerous septuagenarians," he said. "Age doesn't make an outlaw any less ornery. Put a gun in their hands and they can kill, same as some young fella. And make no mistake, apprehending a fugitive is messy business. I've chased outlaws through garbage dumps and sewers and fished a couple out of the Dumpsters they were hidin' in. One of 'em - I swear – even pissed on me. Thought it was funny."

Big Dog was staring at Givens, wide-eyed. "What'd you do?"

Givens' lips curled into a feral smile that made Big Dog back up a step. "My job. Same as Stephanie here."

It took everything I had not to make cow eyes at Givens in front of Carl and Big Dog. I knew that if I did, news would travel quickly to Morelli and Morelli still thought something might have happened between us during my visit to Kentucky.

"Come on, Steph," Givens said to me. "Let's get you cleaned up and I'll fill you in on our case."

"She's not a marshal." Carl was staring incredulously at both of us, like he couldn't believe someone this cool wanted to include me in his manhunt and not him.

Givens turned slowly to Carl, his expression amused. "Some months ago, I deputized Stephanie under Section 39(b) of the Marshal's Act. She'll be assisting me while I'm in town, huntin' for my fugitive."

"But she's -" Big Dog started to protest.

"She's gonna be a marshal when they lift that hirin' freeze."

Carl and Big Dog gaped at me.

I gave them a little finger wave.

Then I made cow eyes at Givens.


	2. Jersey Girls and Harlan Boys

Chapter 2 - Jersey Girls and Harlan Boys

My Xterra was parked in front of the office on Hamilton and Givens angled into a spot behind it. Not long ago, the office burned to the ground and there were some problems getting it rebuilt. We finally reopened a month ago and the new office was clean and well-lit, with a big picture window. I could see Connie looking up from her desk and there was a flash of blue as Lula disappeared into the bathroom.

"I'll just be a second," I told Givens. "No sense wasting money in the meter."

Givens produced some kind of ID from the glove box and dropped it on the dashboard. "Nobody tickets a marshal. Besides, I'm dyin' to see what it's like in the private sector."

Connie's mouth dropped open when she saw Givens walk in behind me. Connie Rosolli is the office manager. She's a couple of years older than me with bigger boobs, bigger hair and she's related to half the mob in Trenton. "Holy shit!"

"You must be Connie," Givens said, flashing her a smile that could have charmed the panties off of one of the Immaculate Conception nuns. "Thank you for tellin' me where to find Stephanie."

She nodded, incapable of speech, staring wide-eyed at Givens.

I slid the body receipt onto her desk. "Anything else come in?"

Connie's face twisted into a grimace as she smelled me and then she pulled the checkbook from her desk to write a check for LaMarca. "Remember Stuart Baggett?"

It was my turn to grimace. Stuart Baggett had sandy blond hair and cocker spaniel eyes. His last arrest was for getting drunk and shooting up some cars, including a couple of cop cars. He wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box and he was deceptively cute so that you wanted to trust him, which made capturing him a pain in the ass. "What did he do now?"

"Arson. He set the stock room on fire at Cluck in a Bucket. Claims the manager didn't want to pay him for his overtime.". Connie nudged the file towards me.

I guessed maybe eighteen months in prison might have made Baggett a little less cute and cocker spaniel-like.

Givens reached for the pile. "Mind if I take a peek?"

"Hell, no. Take a good long look," Connie told him, leaning forward and showing off her impressive cleavage.

He gave her one of his aw-shucks grins and flipped through the FTAs. "Let's do this one, Stephanie. Manny Batson. Assault, armed robbery and grand theft auto. Looks like he should be good for a few laughs." He held up a photo of a very large, very bald, very angry, tattooed Black biker-looking guy. "What do you say?"

I wanted to say not in a million years. I wanted to run screaming and hide in the bathroom with Lula. Instead, I said, "I guess so."

Givens set the file aside and continued going through the stack of folders. "This asshole's a wife-beater and a drunk. We'll pick him up, too. You know what, how about Stephanie and I take all of these and we'll get 'em done by the end of the week?"

Connie and I sucked in a breath but it was Connie who recovered first. "I'd love to let you but you're not on our payroll and you're not covered by our bond. You can have Batson and Wisnewski but Stephanie has to do Baggett, too. I can't assign something that low-level to anybody else."

"Fine with me," Givens shrugged. "That guy'll probably take us about a minute and a half."

I couldn't wait to see how Givens handled Baggett and his cocker spaniel eyes.

The door to Vinnie's office slammed open and he leaned out. "Hey! You in the hat! You want a job?"

Vinnie was a sexual lunatic who liked dark-skinned young men and pointy-breasted women and implements of medieval torture. He was the bail bondsman behind the Vincent Plum Agency and he loaned people money to post the bond set by the court. Once the bond was posted, the person would be set free to go about their business before their court date. The price for using Vinnie's service was a non-refundable fifteen percent of the bond, regardless of whether the person was found guilty or not. If the person, somebody like Stuart Baggett, for example, failed to appear for court, the court got to keep Vinnie's money. Vinnie liked to keep his money.

Givens raised his hat and eyed Vinnie with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "I have a job. I'm a US Marshal."

"Oh no!" Vinnie shook his head. "You don't get to bring in my FTAs and screw me out of my bond. That's what I pay these clowns for." He cut his eyes to me. "Why are you standing around, stinking up the joint? Go get Baggett."

"None of these are federal fugitives," Givens explained calmly, holding up the stack. "I figured I'd just give Stephanie a hand and show her a few tricks to catching some of the higher-paying bonds. They're a lot easier than the shit-jobs, like that Baggett guy."

They were?

Vinnie bared his teeth in a smile that made him look even more ferret-like than usual. "You're gonna teach _Stephanie_ to capture the dangerous ones? This I gotta see."

"You will." Givens tipped his hat at Vinnie and at Connie. "C'mon, Steph. Ready for more marshal lessons?"

"Hold on!" The door to the bathroom flew open and Lula barreled out. She stopped in her tracks as she took in Givens. Her eyes went wide and her mouth formed an O of surprise. "Goddamn. That is one fine hat."

Givens was staring back at Lula, not sure what to make of the large bright blue vision before him.

"Raylan Givens, this is Lula. She's the, uh, file clerk," I said, by way of introduction.

"File clerk? Hunh. I'm an _assistant bounty hunter_. I helped capture that punk, Baggett, the last time," Lula told Givens. Lula's help consisted of slipping on a puddle of special sauce and falling on her ass while I wrestled Stuart who was wearing the Mr. Cluck costume and squirting condiments at me.

His lips twitched and his eyes glinted with humor. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. I never met nobody named Raylan before. That's a real exotic sounding name. And I love me a man with an accent. Especially one who knows how to wear a pair of jeans and carry a Glock." Lula eyed him speculatively.

"Givens is the marshal who worked with me in Kentucky," I told Lula. "That's a federal cop."

"I guess I _know_ what a marshal is, Miss Poopy Pants," Lula sniffed. "Seen plenty of 'em rollin' through Stark Street when I was a ho. What I don't get is why you get to have marshal lessons and I don't. How am I gonna improve my skills as an assistant bounty hunter if I don't get any lessons?"

I cut my eyes to Givens and shrugged.

"Well," he said, slowly, "I'd like to give you marshal lessons but see, I'm a senior marshal and Stephanie's a senior bounty hunter. What you need is a junior marshal to teach you how to be an assistant bounty hunter. The good news is, we've got a junior marshal comin'. His name is Tim Gutterson and even though he doesn't have a hat like mine or an exotic soundin' name, Tim used to be a sniper for the Rangers."

"He's hot," I added.

"Hunh." Lula said. "I suppose that's okay then."

I scooped up my shoulder bag, which was resting on the chair next to Connie and fished out my car keys. "I'm going home to shower and change. I'll call you when we go to pick up Baggett. He's working at Cluck in a Bucket again."

"I wouldn't mind me some Cluck in a Bucket," Lula said. "I'm on a new diet where all you eat is chicken."

"But you had chimichangas for lunch."

"They were chicken ones."

Unh. Mental head slap. I opened the door and stepped outside. The sky was an ugly shade of black and there was an ominous rumble of thunder. I turned to Givens. "Where should I meet you?"

"Why don't I come with you and then we can just take one vehicle when we go after our FTAs?" he countered, unlocking his Town Car. "Don't worry about losing me. I've got years of experience tailin' better drivers than you."

I rolled my eyes. Clearly, he'd never driven in Jersey before.

Just then, there was a flash of lightning and the sky opened up, drenching me in seconds. Givens was safe and dry in his car and I was pretty sure he was laughing at me. I let the rain soak my clothes, hoping it might wash some of the mess off of me. I could live with damp seats in my Xterra. I couldn't live with seats that smelled like garbage and poop.

When I was sure I'd been hosed down sufficiently, I climbed behind the wheel. Givens was going to get his first Jersey survival lesson.


	3. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Chapter 3 – Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

I pulled into the parking lot for my apartment building and left Givens the spot next to the Dumpster. The rain had just let up and I climbed out of the Xterra to wait for him. He got out of his Town Car, did a quick sweep of the lot and then turned his attention to the building. I live in a three-story brick building that's mostly inhabited by senior citizens. The rent is cheap and the décor leaves a lot to be desired. My bathroom is orange and brown and my refrigerator is avocado green. Still, it's not a bad place to live if you discount the number of times my apartment has been broken into.

Satisfied that there were no threats, Givens looked down at me. "I'm no expert on Jersey but I'm pretty sure you led me on a merry little chase through town and we coulda been here a lot sooner."

"I thought you might like a tour," I shrugged.

"At ninety miles an hour through residential streets?"

I gave him my most innocent look. "You have to go with the flow of traffic. Any slower and you would have been rear-ended by a soccer mom in a minivan."

His lips curved upwards. "You tried real hard, I give you that, but it takes a lot more skill to shake someone with my years of experience."

I shrugged again and led him into the lobby of my building where we waited for the elevator. The doors opened and Mrs. Bestler leaned out, "Going up."

Mrs. Bestler was in her early eighties and when she got bored, she liked to play elevator operator. She leaned on her walker as we got in and eyed Givens with interest.

"Hi, Mrs. Bestler," I said. "Second floor, please."

"Good choice," she told me, pressing the button. "Looks like you've been working. Catch any bad guys today?"

"Kind of. I brought in Louie LaMarca."

She smiled. "I haven't seen him in years. He had a schedule. In the mornings, he'd flash the Catholic schools, around noon he'd come by Giovichinnis and then at three, he'd be at the public schools. You could set your watch by Louie LaMarca. Sometimes, seeing his ding dong was the highlight of my day. We don't get too many of them flashers around here anymore," she concluded wistfully.

Givens' lips started to twitch.

The elevator doors opened and Mrs. Bestler sang out, "Second floor. Better dresses. Sportswear. Swimwear."

Givens followed me to my apartment and I opened the door, turning on the light. Rex was running on his wheel and he stopped to look at the newcomer, his little black eyes tracking Givens' movements from behind the glass walls of his aquarium. Givens stopped and peered at him with a smile. "This must be Rex. Hi, little fella."

Rex's nose twitched and he retreated into one of the two soup cans in the aquarium. The other soup can was occupied by Rex's new best friend, the hamster I'd named Raylan, in honor of my friend from Kentucky. Now didn't seem like the time to admit I'd done that.

The light was flashing on my answering machine. I had one message. My mother's voice filled the apartment, telling me tonight was pot roast night and reminding me not to be late. As added incentive, she made pineapple upside down cake. She concluded with, "Myra Sklar said you brought in Louie LaMarca and he wasn't wearing any clothes. Why can't you have a normal job?"

"Pineapple upside down cake." Givens closed his eyes in mock ecstasy. "And I can't tell you the last time I had home cooked pot roast."

No. Oh God, no. Weakly, I asked, "Do you want to come to dinner at my parents' house?" In the vain hope of convincing him it wasn't a good idea, I added, "Morelli's working but he said he might stop by."

"That'd be great. I'd like to meet Morelli."

Shit. Speaking of shit… "I'm going to hop in the shower. There's beer in the fridge and probably nothing on TV. Make yourself comfortable. I might be a while."

Givens set his hat down on my coffee table and sank onto my sofa. "Take your time. I ain't goin' anywhere."

At least he didn't offer to help.

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When I came back into the living room, I was wearing a clean pair of jeans and a blue v-neck sweater. My makeup was freshly applied and my hair was having one of its good days, my natural curls arranging themselves into something vaguely sexy. The sky was black again so I grabbed a RangeMan ball cap and stuffed it into my big black bag.

Givens was sitting on the sofa, reading the contents of a file but it wasn't one of the ones he'd taken from Connie. This one had crime scene photos and official-looking paperwork. He looked up at me and smiled. "Feel better?"

"Were you telling the truth when you said a fugitive peed on you?" I asked.

He gave me an innocent look. "Would I tell a fib?"

"Yes."

Givens chuckled. "Very good. You remember everything I taught you. You been usin' any of it?"

"Some. I haven't had an opportunity to rack a shotgun at Joyce Barnhardt lately." I sat next to him and peered at the contents of the file. "Is this the case you're working on?"

"It is." He reached over and straightened up the paperwork, pulling a mug shot. "Fletcher 'the Ice Pick' Nix. Escaped custody a month ago and it looks like he's here in Trenton."

I shuddered. "I-Ice pick? He kills people with an ice pick?"

"No." Givens produced a crime scene photo of a man with a huge hole in his head and pointed to a stab wound in the man's hand. "Nix likes to play a game before he kills his vics. Asks 'em to count down from ten, puts his gun down and tells the vic to go for it. Poor moron grabs for the gun, Nix stabs 'em in their gun hand with the ice pick then shoots 'em."

"So he's a cheater," I said. "Shouldn't he be Fletcher 'the Cheater' Nix?"

Givens laughed. "It sure should be. Anyway, he's here in Trenton. Killed some poor kid with the unfortunate name of James Bravo a couple of days ago."

I grabbed the newspaper and flipped it to the obituaries. Sure enough, there was going to be a viewing of James Bravo tonight at Stiva's. I showed the notice to Givens. "We should go and see if we can find out what Bravo was involved in."

"Normally, I just –"

"This is the Burg. Normal doesn't apply here."

His eyes narrowed in thought. "Okay, Junior Marshal Plum. I'm sure you know your people like I know my people back in Harlan. We'll do this your way."

I didn't warn him we might have to take Grandma Mazur. It was a good bet she knew about this viewing and was picking her best outfit to wear.

Yeah, I knew my people. And I was dreading exposing Givens to them.

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My parents live in a narrow duplex that shares a common wall with its mirror image. Mrs. Ciak lives in the other half and her side is painted pale green. My parents' half is painted mustard yellow and brown. Each half of the house has a postage-stamp front yard, a small covered front porch, a back stoop leading to a long, narrow backyard and a detached single car garage.

Grandma Mazur was at the front door, watching as Givens parked the Town Car. She's lived with my parents since my Grandpa Mazur went on to the all-you-can-eat-buffet in the sky. My father wouldn't mind if Grandma pulled up a chair at that buffet but I don't see that happening any time soon. Grandma is somewhere between eighty and a hundred, with steel gray hair that she cuts short and has put into tight curls once a week at the beauty parlor. Her lips and nails were bright red and she was wearing a hot pink track suit. "Holy smokes! It's a cowboy!"

"This is the US Marshal I met in Kentucky. Raylan Givens, this is my Grandma Mazur," I said.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Givens tipped his hat at Grandma.

"Ain't he the charmer! Nothing sexier than a man with manners. I need to find me a man with manners who looks good in a pair of jeans like that." She beckoned us inside with a bony finger. "I'm going to that viewing tonight. Some kid got ice picked to death and then his head got blown off. There's gonna be a big crowd for that one."

Givens' eyes were sparkling with amusement as I led him into the dining room. My father was in the living room, watching the news. He looked at Givens and grunted.

My mother came out of the kitchen, saw Givens and scurried back into the kitchen to grab an extra place setting. She came out a moment later and added a place at the table for him.

"This is Raylan Givens," I told her.

"The marshal from Kentucky." My mother looked up at him, eyes wide. "We're having pot roast. I hope that's all right."

"I haven't had a good home-cooked pot roast in a real long time," Givens drawled, putting in some extra twang for my mother's benefit. "When Stephanie invited me and told me you were makin' pot roast, well, my mouth started waterin' at the notion. I hope I'm not intrudin' on your family dinner."

My mother and I sucked in a breath.

This was the Burg. It was a point of honor that no guest, invited or uninvited, was ever intruding on dinner. Plates would be laid out, the guest would be fed and maybe even given a bag with leftovers. My mother would never breach Burg protocol and tell Givens he was intruding. Besides, considering some of the strays I'd brought home for dinner, Givens looked pretty normal in comparison.

We took our seats at the table, Givens sitting to my right and Grandma sitting next to him, eyeing him with interest. "What kind of gun are you packing?"

He nearly dropped his water glass but he recovered quickly. "It's a Glock, ma'am."

"I had me a Glock once but it had a little too much kick so I traded it to Loretta Beeber for a thirty-eight." She turned to my father. "Mind passing them potatoes?"

My father muttered something under his breath that sounded ominous.

Givens was saved from further questions about his gun by his cell phone. He excused himself and went into the kitchen. When he returned, he was smiling. "That was Tim. He'll be meetin' us at the funeral parlor."

Grandma looked up from her pot roast. "Oh good. You can give me a ride! Are you going to see that Bravo boy? I hope they got an open casket."

My mother made the sign of the cross.

Before either of us could answer, Morelli walked into the dining room and stopped short, staring hard at Givens. Joseph Morelli is a plain clothes cop in Trenton. He has curly brown hair that touches the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck and chocolate brown eyes that can be unbelievably sexy or unbelievably scary. When I was six, Morelli lured me into his father's garage to play choo-choo. When I was sixteen, he took my virginity on the floor of a bakery. When I was eighteen, I ran him over with my father's Buick. It's been a long, strange, on-again, off-again relationship.

"Joe Morelli, this is Raylan Givens," I said, wondering just how south things were going to go once I let the boys get a word in edgewise. "He's the marshal I worked with in Kentucky."

Morelli smiled a phony smile, all teeth and no sincerity. "Raylan? Oh, you're Raylan the hamster's daddy."

My father grunted and reached for more mashed potatoes and I saw my mother quietly slip into the kitchen. I had a feeling she was going to the cabinet where she hid her bottle of whiskey before she brought out dessert.

Givens returned the smile and turned to me. "You named a hamster for me?"

Uh-oh. "Well..."

"That's really sweet," he drawled and then leaned over to kiss my cheek. The phony smile was fixed in place as he turned back to Morelli and said, "I guess you're the other hamster's daddy. Rex must be your nickname, huh?"

Great. Two cops who knew exactly how to push each other's buttons. I figured I had less than five minutes or one more insult before it came to blows. Of course, once they beat the snot out of each other, they'd have a beer and decide they liked each other more than they liked me and I'd spend tonight watching TV with the hamsters.

"We're going to see the guy who got stabbed with the ice pick and had his head blown off," Grandma told Morelli. "You wanna come?"

"I've already seen him, thanks." Morelli motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. "Nice meeting you Givens."

"Likewise, Morelli."

I got up and went after Morelli, bracing myself.

"Jesus," Morelli said. Then he hooked a finger into my v-neck sweater and peeked inside. "You didn't tell me Givens was so…"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You said he wears a cowboy hat."

"He does. It's on the coffee table."

"You're impossible." Morelli rolled his eyes. "Why is he here?"

"He's looking for a fugitive," I told Morelli. "The ice pick killer. Fletcher Nix."

Morelli's eyes went wide and then he brushed past me to go back into the dining room. "Excuse me, Givens. Can I see you in the kitchen for a second? Cupcake, do you mind letting us have a few minutes for some shop talk?"

Givens rested his hand on my shoulder. "Stephanie's workin' the case with me. You got somethin' to say, you can say it in front of her."

Morelli cut his eyes from Givens to me. "She's not a marshal."

"I deputized her under Section 39(b) of the US Marshals Act."

"There is no Section 39(b) of the US Marshals Act."

Givens grinned but there was no warmth in it. "You're welcome to look it up. Meantime, Junior Marshal Plum is stayin'. It'll save me the trouble of havin' to repeat what you tell me."

"Fine." Morelli's eyes narrowed at Givens. "You can't haul in Fletcher Nix. There's a bigger investigation going on that I'm not prepared to discuss with you until my CO clears it."

They stared at each other for a long time before Givens spoke. "He's a federal fugitive and he's part of an investigation _my_ office is workin' on. I'm not prepared to discuss _our_ case with you until I speak with _my _boss."

"Fine."

"Great."

Oh boy.


	4. The Fun in Funerals

Chapter 4 – The Fun in Funerals 

Funerals have an important place in the Burg. Other communities have country clubs and fraternal orders. The Burg has funeral parlors. If people stopped dying, the social life of the Burg would come to a grinding halt.

Stiva's was on Hamilton, not far from Saint Francis Hospital. The building was a converted Victorian that was painted white with black shutters. Inside were two viewing rooms but only one was in use tonight for the Bravo funeral. As Grandma Mazur predicted, it was a full house. The murder had been front page news and a lot of people were curious.

Tim Gutterson was waiting outside and he grinned when he saw me. "Junior Marshal Plum. I told you I'd come for a visit." He turned to Grandma. "Who's this lovely lady?"

"Aren't you the one?" Grandma said. "I'm Stephanie's grandmother. Are you carrying a Glock, too?"

"I am. What are you carrying?" Tim asked.

"I'm carrying a forty-five," Grandma told him. "She's a real beaut. Wanna see?"

"No! No guns! Keep it in your purse," I said to Grandma.

She slid her dentures around in her mouth. "What if there's trouble? What if someone else starts shooting? Those Bravos have a bad reputation."

The two marshals exchanged looks in a silent debate over who was going to pump my grandmother for information about the Bravos and it was Tim who took Grandma's arm. "Really? Why don't we go pay our respects and you can tell me all about it?"

"Can we peek inside the casket?" Grandma asked him. "Closed casket funerals are such a cheat."

Tim grinned. "I think the family wouldn't like that. Besides, he's been cut up for the autopsy and then they covered everything with funeral makeup. How about if I show you the crime scene photos? They have close-ups of the wounds."

My left eye started to twitch.

Givens took my arm and steered me towards the back of the room. "They make a cute couple, don't they?"

I rolled my eyes and then I saw Mary Lou Stankovic come in. Mary Lou was my best friend since childhood and she was married with three children. I was surprised to see her out of the house by herself on a week night, especially since she worked part time during the week.

She gawked at Givens as we approached. "Who's this?"

"Raylan Givens, Mary Lou Stankovic." This introduction thing was getting old.

Mary Lou looked Givens up and down and then at me. "You didn't break up with Joe Morelli again, did you?"

"I work with Givens," I told her. "Did you know James Bravo?"

"Jimmy worked at the GM dealership with me," Mary Lou said. "He was a junior mechanic."

"Did you know him well?" Givens asked.

Mary Lou shrugged. "I worked in the office, he was in the back with his head in engines all day."

I grew up with Mary Lou and I could tell she was holding back. Judging by the way her eyes were lit up, it was juicy. "Spill. Givens loves gossip."

He flashed Mary Lou a flirty little grin.

She sucked in a breath and crossed herself. Then she motioned for us to come in close. "Jimmy used to work for Bucky Seidler at the Toyota dealership. Bucky said Jimmy was doing it with the owner's wife and one of the girls from the office, too. Plus he had a girlfriend."

"Didn't Bobby Barroni own that dealership?" I asked. "His wife is my mother's age and she's one of my mother's friends."

Mary Lou nodded. "Carla Barroni. I heard she's a regular Mrs. Robinson."

"Yuck!"

"What's this Bobby Barroni doin' now?" Givens asked.

"Time," I told him. "Before the dealership shut down, he siphoned off a bunch of money but he got caught." I turned back to Mary Lou. "Anyone besides Bobby have a grudge against Jimmy Bravo?"

"I don't know," Mary Lou admitted. "But if you ask that little blonde over there standing next to Terry Gilman, I bet she could tell you. I saw her hanging around a lot."

Terry Gilman, formerly Terry Grizzoli, was slim and blonde and she dated Morelli during high school. Rumor had it that she was moving up the corporate ladder in organized crime. Rumor also had it that she had her sights set on Morelli again, too. None of this particularly endeared her to me, especially when she was speaking into Morelli's ear and he had his hand on her arm.

I felt an arm drop around my shoulders and Givens pulled me close, bending his head to murmur in my ear. "Terry's mob?"

"Uh-huh."

Mary Lou cut her eyes to Morelli and then back at Givens. "I like this guy, Stephanie. A lot." She gave me a little wave and went off to join the other mourners.

"Terry looks awfully chummy with Morelli," Givens whispered, his lips brushing my ear.

I was pretty sure Givens looked awfully chummy with me and people were noticing, including Terry and Morelli. "She gives him information."

"Like who that little blonde is?"

We both looked over at her. The blonde hair was straight out of a bottle and she had almost an inch of roots. Her skirt was too short and her heels were inappropriately high for a funeral. I was sure this would be the hot topic of discussion throughout the Burg tomorrow. She was in her early twenties, which made her about the same age as Jimmy Bravo.

"Probably," I said.

Morelli broke away from Terry and came over to me, pointedly ignoring Givens, whose arm was still around me. "Your grandmother and some guy are sneaking around in the embalming room."

"That'd be Deputy Gutterson," Givens said. "I believe he deputized Stephanie's granny under Section 39(b) of the Marshals Act. She's probably helpin' him investigate."

"Great. Just great." Morelli blew out a sigh. "Save me a slice of that cake. I'll be over later."

"Stephanie's gonna be out late. We have a shoppin' list of fugitives needin' to be picked up." It was amazing how matter-of-fact Givens was when he said it. "Figure we're gonna need all that leftover cake for surveillance."

Morelli stared at him, a full-on cop stare.

Givens returned the look with one of his own feral stares.

Apparently this was some kind of silent conversation because Morelli said, "I know about you, Givens. You have a reputation. Just remember, this is Jersey, not Miami." He pulled me from Givens' embrace and kissed me on the forehead. "Be careful. If there's any shooting, run like hell in the other direction."

"I'll keep her safe," Givens promised. "Just like I did when she was in Kentucky."

"I expect nothing less." Morelli chucked me under the chin. "I'll drive your grandmother home."

"Thanks," I told him. Then, for the hell of it, I asked, "Who's the floozy with Terry?"

"Floozy?" Morelli echoed with a grin.

"What else would you call her?"

"Terry's cousin. Her uncle Vito's granddaughter." Morelli eyed Givens. "She'll explain that to you later. You think you can go now, Givens? I'm not going to be able to get a thing out of Terry when the guy who took out Tommy Bucks is in the room."

Givens looked down at me. "Your call, Junior Marshal Plum."

We could stay and they could continue to try to one-up each other or we could go try to bring in dangerous FTAs. The dangerous FTAs sounded a lot safer.


	5. Cowboy Story

Chapter 5 - Cowboy Story 

"Who's Tommy Bucks?" I asked as we got into the Town Car. "And what did Morelli mean, you took him out?"

"Me first.". Givens turned to me and though I didn't know him well, I could see Tommy Bucks was a sore subject for him just by the way his jaw clenched. "Tell me about this Vito Grizolli."

I shook my head. "Nothing concrete. Just rumors that his family dry cleaning business cleans more than money and Terry used to handle collections but she moved up."

"Morelli's not interested in her," Givens remarked, starting the car. "He's puttin' on a good show, lettin' her think it's a possibility so she'll feed him information but you're the one he wants. You see how pissed he got when he thought I was movin' in on you? That was real smart of you to take advantage and ask about the floozy. He woulda told you anything right then to get my hands off you."

Holy shit. I just followed my gut. Turned out my gut was right about more than cake.

"He'll figure it out when he has a second to think about it so I probably won't be able to pull that trick a second time.". We stopped at a light and Givens grinned at me. "Morelli knows the same tricks I do and that's why he mentioned Tommy Bucks. Its a long story so I'll tell you about it later, okay? How about we go pick up Manny Batson?"

Gulp. Batson lived a few blocks south of Stark Street. Stark Street started down by the river, just north of the state house and ran in a northeasterly direction straight into hell. The streets were lined with small businesses like ninety-nine cent stores, check-cashing places, store-front churches with dubious names, crack houses, bars, and run-down three-story row houses that had been converted into apartments or rooms for rent. I liked to avoid visiting Stark Street wherever possible and even though Givens had a badge and an arsenal, avoiding Stark Street still seemed like a good idea.

"It's early. How about we go grab Baggett first?" I countered. The likelihood of Baggett being anywhere near Stark Street was about the same as Lula's all-chicken diet having any effect.

"Good idea," Givens agreed. "It's easier to pick up a guy like Batson in the middle of the night. Catch him in bed, he's less likely to put up a fuss."

I figured I'd remind Givens of that when we were running for our lives.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

According to the paperwork for the bond, Baggett was back living with his parents at 10 Applegate Street in Mercerville. Applegate was a street full of nicely-kept single family homes with carefully tended lawns. The Baggett house was a white Cape with blue shutters and a dark blue blue door.

Givens followed me up the walkway and stood beside me, his hand resting on his gun as I knocked on the door.

Mrs. Baggett answered the door. She was close to my mother's age and the last time we met, seemed like an intelligent, respectable woman. This time, her eyes narrowed when she saw me. "You!"

"Hi, Mrs. Baggett. Is Stuart home?". I felt, rather than saw Givens move closer behind me.

Mrs. Baggett's eyes cut immediately to Givens. "Who's this?"

"A trainee bounty hunter," I answered quickly. "About Stuart..."

"He's not home.". She started to slam the door shut but I jammed my CAT boot in the way. "Get your foot out of my door or I'll call the police."

"Ma'am, I am the police.". Givens held up his badge and his expression became harder, more businesslike. "Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens. Your son missed his court date and that makes him a wanted fugitive. It would help him if he came in voluntarily with Stephanie rather than havin' me bring him in like he was some kinda dangerous felon."

Her mouth dropped open and then she snapped it shut, glaring at me. "You just said he was a trainee! You're a fibber, Stephanie Plum. A big, fat, fibber."

Oh boy.

"Stephanie didn't want to alarm you," Givens said, his tone calm. "See, Stuart's been FTA twice now and the court doesn't look on that kindly. Won't you help your son and tell us where to find him?"

Mrs. Baggett's shoulders slumped. "He used to be such a good boy."

"Maybe a second stretch'll straighten him out," Givens suggested. "He'll have to ride the full rap this time, this bein' his second offense, there won't be time off for good behavior. He'll have plenty of time to decide whether bein' an outlaw is really what he wants to do with his life. So far, he ain't exactly been any good at it."

"He's at the mall," Mrs. Baggett told us. "Selling shoes at Kiddie Steps."

I heaved a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't working with food.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Quaker Bridge Mall was about four miles from Stuart's house and it was crowded tonight. Easter was two weeks away and shoppers were in search of new Easter outfits and gifts for Easter baskets. Kiddie Steps was on the second floor and there was a line of exhausted-looking parents with small children in various stages of tantrums waiting to get in. A large sign offered a free picture with the Easter Bunny with each purchase. I peered inside but didn't see Stuart.

Melvin Pickle, a former FTA of mine, was busy tying a pair of sneakers on a sobbing toddler. Pickle used to work at a women's shoe store in the mall and had been arrested for indecent exposure when last we met. He was still overweight, had a little less hair but he smiled when he saw me. "I know you're not here for me."

The toddler stopped crying and was looking up at Givens with awe. "Woody!"

"Hi there, li'l fella," Givens said.

That was all the encouragement the toddler needed to throw his arms around Givens' leg and bury his snot-covered face against Givens' jeans.

"I'm looking for Stuart Baggett," I told Pickle.

Another toddler ambled over and buried her face against Givens' other leg.

Pickle pointed at the Easter Bunny, who jumped to his feet, dropping the twins in his lap to the floor. The twin girls immediately started sobbing, which set off the rest of the kids waiting in line. In seconds, the store was filled with wails and shrieks.

"Bad bunny," the twins' mother scolded, smacking Stuart soundly on his bunny head.

"Woody and his evil helper want to arrest the Easter Bunny," Stuart announced, shouting to be heard above the chaos. "He's trying to stop Easter! There won't be any eggs or Easter baskets if that happens. Help me, kids!"

There was a second of shocked silence.

A tidal wave of toddlers attacked us, throwing shoes, pacifiers, stuffed toys and things I couldn't identify that were spitty and sticky. They pounded their little fists at us, screaming and crying as their parents tried vainly to regain control. Givens lost his balance and went down, buried under a mob of tiny bodies.

I jumped onto the counter with Pickle to get away from the little monsters.

"I thought working with kids would be easier than selling women's shoes," Pickle said to me. "Kids never swear they're a size six. Tell them they're a bigger size, everyone's happy. Nobody warned me about something like this."

Finally, all the kids had been hustled out of the store and Givens stood up, looking dazed. His shirt was torn and his hat was on crooked. A green lollipop was stuck to the brim.

Stuart was gone.

"Did I mention Winona's pregnant?" he asked me.


	6. The Cowboy Way

Chapter 6 - The Cowboy Way 

"Two more names for the no list," Givens said into his phone as we walked through the mall. "Stuart and Woody."

I pulled a Wet One from my purse and tugged the hat off of his head, dabbing carefully at the bright green goo on the brim. Baby wipes never ceased to amaze me with what they could get rid of. My mother bought a giant box of purse packs for me at Costco after I showed up for dinner after a particularly disastrous day. Sure, they added to the bulk of my bag, but they were worth their weight in gold.

"'member how I told you I didn't like Toy Story and you made fun of me? Turns out I was right." Givens gave me a thumbs-up when I showed him his freshly-cleaned hat. He put the phone back in his pocket and inspected his hat. "Nice job, Junior Marshal Plum and Winona says hello."

"Having second thoughts about parenthood?" I asked, watching him slide the hat back on.

"Reconsiderin' my views on those kiddie leashes and wonderin' if anybody makes kiddie muzzles." He grinned wryly. "Good thing most of them little ones were missin' teeth."

I shuddered and counted myself lucky to have hamsters.

"Turn that frown around, Steph. We'll get Baggett." Givens grinned at me. "How about we go get Batson and I'll show you why he's the easier take-down?"

This I had to see. "Okay."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Manny Batson lived on the third floor of a three story walk up on Montgomery Street. The cement stoop was cracked and part of the second step was missing. We stepped carefully over it and into the unlocked front door where sharp smell of urine greeted us from the narrow hallway. All the lights were out except for a single bare bulb that cast long ominous shadows.

I was panting by the time I reached the third floor. Givens looked like he could climb ten more flights without breaking a sweat. His mouth quirked as he waited for me to catch my breath.

"Somebody needs to start workin' out," he said, quietly. "You wanna be ready when the Marshals start hirin' again."

I rolled my eyes and reached out to knock on Batson's door when he yanked me off to the side, shaking his head.

"First rule of apprehendin' a dangerous fugitive, don't stand directly in front of the door. Your man has a gun, you're gonna take a bullet," Givens whispered. "Stand here and try it again."

I stood on the side and reached around to knock on the door. "Mister Batson?"

There was complete silence and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked on the other side of the door. Givens grabbed me and hurled me to the hard tile floor just as a shotgun blast blew a giant hole in the door and ripped the door to the compactor room across the hall right off its hinges.

"Stay down," Givens murmured to me. He got to his feet. "Mister Batson? This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens. How 'bout we discuss your options and see if we can't resolve this situation without further gunplay? Sound good to you?"

"What about that skinny-ass white girl? She a marshal too?" Batson asked from behind the door.

"She works for the company that paid your bond. You missed your court date and she's here to bring you back to reschedule." Givens' hand was on his gun, his tone was deceptively friendly but his gaze was sharp as he peered into the hole made by the shotgun blast. "All you have to do is put the gun down, let Miss Plum put the cuffs on you an' take you down to the courthouse. That's option one."

"What's option two?" Batson demanded.

"You won't like that option, Mister Batson," Givens said and there was a note of regret in his voice, as if even discussing the second option disappointed him. "That's the one where I come in and get you."

There was a long pause while Batson thought about it. "How about option three, where I blow your motherfuckin' head off?"

Givens emitted a sigh. It was a weary sound, like he was sorry the conversation had taken this turn. "You know how many outlaws made that same threat to me over the years? My head's still on my shoulders, Mister Batson, and those men are all six feet under."

The shotgun racked.

Givens drew his gun and fired into the hole.

There was a thump and the clatter of the shotgun hitting the floor.

Spots danced in front of my eyes as I realized that all this happened in the span of a single heartbeat. Then I threw up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eddie Gazarra was first on the scene. He was my second-best friend in grade school and now he was married to my cousin, Shirley the Whiner. When he saw Givens standing next to me, he sighed. "They warned us you were here."

"Excuse me?" Givens was all innocence.

"Look, it's nothing personal," Eddie shrugged. "Morelli sent out an alert that you came to town looking for that Ice Pick guy and you've got a reputation. Judging by the dead guy in the apartment, probably there's a reason for that."

"He shot first and he was rackin' in another load," Givens explained. "It was justified."

I wanted to tell Eddie how Givens talked to Batson and gave him options. Unfortunately, I was having trouble forming words.

"Thank you for not puking on the crime scene," Eddie said to me.

"Y-you're welcome," I managed.

"That was quite a show you two put on over at the mall." Eddie was smiling now. "We got a call about a disturbance involving the Easter Bunny and Woody from Toy Story and we all knew it had to be you. The security footage is making its way around the station."

My left eye started to twitch.

"What a mess," were Morelli's first words as he came up the stairs. His eyes cut to the splintered compactor room door and then to the gaping two and a half foot hole in the door to Batson's apartment. Then he turned to me. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"You two are having a busy night," Morelli said. He was about two hours past five o'clock shadow and he'd discarded the blazer he wore to the Bravo viewing earlier. The sleeves of his grey button down shirt were rolled up and the gun at his waist was visible. He gave me a long, slow once over and then picked a piece of Batson's door from my hair. "What happened? After the Attack of the Toddlers, I mean."

I glanced over at Givens, who shrugged. "I knocked on the door and Batson answered with a shotgun blast. Then Givens gave him two options. Batson could come with me or Givens would go in and get him."

"Sounds reasonable," Morelli agreed. "Then what happened?"

"Batson came up with his own option of blowing Givens' head off. He racked the shotgun and Givens shot him through the hole in the door." The memory of it made my stomach lurch again. "Givens didn't even have his gun out. He pulled it in between the shotgun racking and before Batson could pull the trigger."

"He's known for that," Morelli said flatly.

I eyed Givens who gave me his most innocent look. That look was never going to work on me again. Ever.

Morelli turned to Givens. "Is that about what happened?"

"Just about. Stephanie left out where I identified myself as a marshal. I'm pretty sure all the neighbors heard it, too." Givens laid a hand on my shoulder. "Batson's got a nice little supply of Oxy in there. I'm guessin' the armed robbery was to support his habit."

"I hate that stuff," Morelli sighed. "You two mind calling it a night? I don't feel like being called to the scene of another one of your FTA takedowns. I just spent the last forty minutes taking statements from pissed off parents and cranky toddlers."

Givens grinned. "We had one more FTA on our list but I guess that can wait 'til tomorrow. C'mon, Steph. I'll drop you home."

I followed Givens onto the street and nearly crashed into him when he stopped short at the bottom of the steps.

He looked to his left and then to his right. "Shit."

The Town Car was gone.


	7. Batman and Green Lantern

Chapter 7 - Batman and Green Lantern

Ranger jumped out of a black Honda CR-V that was parked across the street and strolled over, eying Givens as he approached. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, from his black Bates boots to his black cargo pants to the black T-shirt that stretched tightly over the chiseled physique he acquired in Special Forces. "I found your car."

Givens raised an eyebrow. "That's good, seein' how I just discovered it was missing. You must be Ranger."

"How did you know?" I asked Ranger. Maybe Givens was too cool to ask but I wasn't.

Ranger smiled, his teeth bright against his dark skin. "Magic."

"He hacked the GPS tracker," Givens explained, climbing into the passenger seat of the CR-V. "Looks like we got us a paramilitary guardian angel."

"The car is at a chop shop a few blocks from here. Tank's keeping an eye on it, making sure the marshal's toys don't end up in the wrong hands," Ranger told me. He glanced over at Givens. "You might want to sit this one out."

Givens snorted. "You implyin' I can't handle a few gang bangers?"

Ranger grinned at Givens. "Heaven forbid."

Women in the burg would have paid money to see this. Still, having a front row seat to the superhero team-up of the century scared the crap out of me.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We drove eight blocks west and parked across the street from a service station. Two teenagers wearing do-rags and armed with handguns were stationed at the entrance and they eyed us warily. Tank emerged from a black Navigator and met us on the sidewalk. Sounds of loud hip-hop music and laughter could be heard out on the street as we approached.

Givens was the first to speak. "Scuse me, fellas -"

"Check it out. It's the fuckin' Lone Ranger." The shorter one was about two inches shorter than Givens with a half-closed left eye and a scar that ran along his chin.

The other kid had a football player's physique that was just starting to go to fat. He had a little soul patch and a four-inch lead pipe in his hand. "Nah. Lone Ranger's been dead for years. This here's one'a them gay cowboys from that stupid movie. You an' your boyfriends an' your fag hag be in the wrong part of town, sweetheart." He made kissing sounds at Givens.

Ranger nudged me and whispered. "This is going to be good. Your friend Givens has a reputation."

Everybody knew about Givens' reputation. Everybody, that was, except me. I was the one who was learning about it firsthand.

Givens exhaled and it was the sound of the frustration that comes from dealing with idiots. Then he punched the football player in the gut, doubling him over. The pipe clattered to the ground and Givens kicked it into the gutter. A second punch dropped the kid like a sack of potatoes.

The friendly smile returned to Givens' face as he addressed the other kid. "As I was sayin', you don't mind if I go inside, do you?"

The kid's mouth was hanging open. "Nuh-no."

"Good. Cuff yourself to the fence." Givens handed the kid a pair of handcuffs. He turned to us. "You comin'?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Town Car was intact inside the garage but the trunk was wide open and one of the gang members was wearing Givens' nylon U.S. Marshals windbreaker and brandishing Givens' shotgun. Four other kids were laughing at him, his antics made a lot funnier by the dookey they were all smoking.

Givens pulled his gun and shot the boom box, exploding it into a million pieces. Silence fell over the room. "I believe those are mine, son."

The kid's eyes cut from Givens to Ranger and then to Tank. He peeled off the jacket, folded it neatly and laid it carefully back in the trunk. Then he did the same with the shotgun.

"Is that everything?" Givens asked.

"We..." the boy swallowed. "We ate the pot roast and the cake."

"Stephanie, would you please inventory my car?" He smiled at the kid. "I'm not callin' you a liar, you understand, but it's my experience that people who steal cars ain't necessarily the most trustworthy."

"Four boxes of shotgun shells," I called out, peering into the trunk. "Six boxes of rounds for your Glock. A dozen pairs of handcuffs."

Givens sighed regretfully. "Seems a bit light."

"Give him the binoculars," the leader hissed at one of the other kids.

"Night vision binoculars," I recited as these were placed in the trunk.

More items were loaded in. A duffel bag that probably contained clean clothes. Lock picks. A rifle scope, even though I was pretty sure Givens didn't have a rifle, more handguns that I knew weren't his, followed by a power drill, switchblades, more tools, a Teddy bear and an iPad. Finally, a six-pack of beer was laid inside.

"For the pot roast and cake," the leader told Givens, adding on a respectful, "sir."

"What's your name, son?" Givens asked.

"Cobra." Then he hastily amended his statement, "Charles Underwood."

"I'm thinkin' you're a pretty decent mechanic, Charles," Givens said. "You just need a good, honest job. Lucky for you, I know where there's an opening. Tomorrow morning, get yourself over to the GM dealership an' tell 'em you heard they need a junior mechanic. Pay's pretty good and there's benefits. You ain't cut out for this life, Charles. Keep it up an' you're gonna end up dead."

"I like him," Ranger said to me. "A lot."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We pulled into my building's parking lot and Givens handed me the beer from his trunk. "Sorry about your cake, Junior Marshal Plum. I know you were lookin' forward to it."

"Not as much as I'm looking forward to a shower," I told him.

When we got off the elevator, we found Tim sitting outside my apartment with a sleeping bag, a duffel bag and a scowl on his face. His eyebrows rose when he saw us. "You two look like you had a fun night."

"What're you doin' here?" Givens asked, following me inside.

Tim glanced around my apartment. "Turns out our per diem only works with two motels in the area. One of them is closed due to bedbugs and the other one _should_ be closed due to bedbugs. Good thing there's enough room in Junior Marshal Plum's place for both of us."

My left eye started to twitch. "What?"

"Figure it's only a matter of time 'til someone tries to kill you and we end up here anyway," Tim went on, dropping his sleeping bag and duffel next to the sofa. "Besides, you ever have a slumber party with two U.S. Marshals? We know how to party." He took the beer from my hand and helped himself to one. "How about we order a pizza to go with this beer?"

Why me?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When I came out of my bedroom, freshly showered and changed into sweats, I found Morelli sitting on the sofa next to Givens. Tim was sitting on the floor. They were eating a pizza and watching ESPN. A couple of file folders were spread open on the coffee table next to the pizza box.

"Is that a Pino's pizza?" I asked Morelli.

"Is there any other kind?" He eyed my sweats and then cut his eyes to my house guests. "I have a chocolate cake from the bakery at my place. And Bob misses you."

Bob was a golden retriever that ate everything - sofas, baseballs, you name it, Bob ate it and then either horked it up or pooped it out. He was a happy, lovable goofball of a dog.

"What kind of chocolate cake?" I asked. It wasn't nice to leave my house guests by themselves so I could have cake and orgasms but I needed to know exactly what I was missing so I could figure out how cranky about it I should be.

Morelli's eyes got dark. "Your favorite. Birthday cake."

"I have guests."

Both of the marshals had given up on ESPN and were watching the Morelli and Stephanie Frustration Hour. Tim was smirking. I shot him a PMS look and the smirk vanished.

"They're big boys," Morelli said. "They have pizza, beer and ESPN. Probably, they'd be fine until breakfast."

"If we run out of stuff on TV, we can always snoop through Junior Marshal Plum's closets," Tim put in. "I bet she has a huge collection of slut shoes."

My left eye twitched.

Morelli grinned at the younger marshal. "The slut shoes are nothing. You should see the sexy underwear in the top drawer of her dresser. Too bad she's a junior marshal. Hitting on her would probably be sexual harassment. Luckily, I'm local PD so I can do all the stuff you dream about and stuff you never knew existed with Stephanie."

Ohmigod.

Givens fixed me with puppy-dog eyes. "We came all the way from Kentucky and you'd abandon us for cake?"

Not just cake. Chocolate birthday cake and orgasms. "No."

"I think she's fibbing," Tim said.

"Well," Givens said, "Would you turn down _cake_? I know I sure wouldn't. Go on, Steph. You deserve a little _cake_ after the day you had, bein' bested by the Easter Bunny."

My mouth dropped open. He was the one who couldn't handle a beat down by a mob of angry toddlers. Fine. He wanted to go there, we'd go there. This was _my_ home turf, after all.

Then I reconsidered.

Givens' hat was off, lying on the coffee table, his shirt was unbuttoned, a hank of hair was hanging in his eyes, and he looked as tired as I'd ever seen him. It seemed wrong to pick on him at that moment, but I asked myself if he'd spare me if the situation were reversed. I answered myself with a resounding "No!" especially after he was the one who insisted I not let my Catholic guilt interfere with going for the kill.

"That Easter Bunny was one wily rabbit," I agreed. "But I'm surprised a big strong U.S. Marshal couldn't handle a bunch of toddlers. They must have been tougher than all the big, nasty fugitives you've ever caught because you look exhausted. Makes me wonder if maybe you're too old for fatherhood."

The last slice of pizza stopped half way to Tim's mouth and he gaped at Givens, who was now shooting me a look that could have frozen molten lava in its tracks. "Shit," Tim said. "Winona's pregnant?"

Morelli looked at Tim, then at Givens, then back to me. "Who's Winona?"

Givens sighed the sigh of the terminally frustrated. "It's complicated."

Morelli shrugged. "What relationship isn't?"

"Winona is his ex-wife whose current husband has mysteriously disappeared." Tim said, smirking. "And it looks like she's knocked up."

Yikes. This was starting to get out of hand. Maybe this was why I never went for the kill.

"They were getting a divorce," Givens growled. "And I toldja I didn't kill him."

Tim looked up at Morelli and me. "I'm sure as a law enforcement officer yourself you've noted that he didn't say he had nothing to do with the disappearance, just that he didn't kill him."

"It didn't escape my attention," Morelli said. "So," He looked pointedly at Givens, but it wasn't his cop-look as much as pure curiosity. "What did you do? Threaten him? Beat him up? Pay him off?"

I wondered why Morelli wanted to know.

Givens glared at Morelli. "I said it was complicated. Why don't you run along and go eat some cake?"

Morelli was grinning as he got up from the sofa, took my hand and we went out into the hall, shutting the door behind us. Most of my neighbors were elderly and fast asleep by now, so there was no audience when he pulled me to him and kissed me, sliding his hands up under my sweatshirt.

"I hate your house guests," Morelli said. "If they snore or fart in their sleep, you know where to go."

I sighed and went back into my cake-less apartment, knowing it was going to be a long night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Author's note:_

_I'd like to thank AndIt'sOuttaHere for contributing to the Morelli/Tim/Raylan/Stephanie post-shower hilarity. She's been an awesome beta reader and partner in crime. If you haven't read any of her work, you should. Right now!_


	8. Tiny Tim and Lula Lemon

Chapter 8 - Tiny Tim and Lula Lemon

The smell of coffee from my kitchen woke me and I staggered out of my bedroom to find Tim making himself at home. Givens cracked open an eye, then flung aside the quilt to stand up and stretch. He was wearing nothing but a wife-beater and pale blue pair of boxers and it was impossible not to stare as he unselfconsciously tugged on his jeans.

Givens was lean, narrow-hipped, broad-shouldered and muscular. If there was a U.S. Marshals beefcake calendar, Givens would be Mr. July. Tim would probably be Mr. October, cute in his Halloween costume and suitable for curling up with on chilly nights. I was suddenly very aware of my bed hair, sweats and lack of make-up.

Tim poured two mugs of coffee and slid them across the counter to Givens and me. Givens took a long sip. His hair was mussed from sleep and stuck up wildly from his head. The effect made him look younger, cuter and less like a lawman.

"I thought you only had one hamster," Tim remarked, breaking the silence.

"The second one is named for me," Givens told him, peering into the aquarium on the kitchen counter. "Is that him? The dark one with the black stripe?"

Raylan the hamster emerged from his soup can to look at Raylan the man. He was dark grey with a black stripe that ran from the center of his forehead all the way down his back. If a hamster could look feral and sleek, Raylan the hamster nailed the look perfectly.

I opened the fridge and grabbed two grapes, handing them to Givens. "Want to give the boys their breakfast?"

Grinning, Givens reached into the aquarium and handed Raylan a grape. Raylan sniffed Givens' fingers, took the grape and disappeared back into his soup can. A second later, Rex emerged, whiskers twitching in indignation. Where was his grape? Wasn't he the senior hamster? Givens gave him the grape and Rex gave a final twitch of his whiskers before retreating into his can. Neither one of my hamsters was a morning person.

"I never thought much about hamsters as pets," Givens said. "I'm warming to the idea."

Tim looked sad. "I don't get a hamster?"

"Did you teach her valuable marshal skills?" Givens countered. And then he smiled. "Buck up, Gutterson. We found you a junior marshal of your very own. Her name's Lula and she's real eager for you to show her your stuff."

I nearly choked on my coffee at the idea of Tim and Lula set loose on the streets of Trenton.

"Lula." Tim tried out the name and then beat out the rhythm of the Kinks' 'Lola' on my counter. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at me. "She's female, right? Biologically?"

"Absolutely," I promised. Lula was a whole lot of female.

Givens winked at me. "First up, we go visit all those people Stephanie's gossipy friend, Mary Lou mentioned last night. We start with that Bucky guy, then Mrs. Robinson and then we see if we can't find us Vito's niece."

"Is Lula riding along?" Tim asked.

I exchanged looks with Givens.

Givens smiled slowly at me and it wasn't a nice smile. Uh-oh. He was still pissed about us ragging on him about Winona. We were going to pay for that bit of hilarity at his expense. In spades. "Why don't you have her meet us downstairs in half an hour?"

Gulp.

I was going to need extra mascara and hair height if I was going to make it through the day with two marshals and Lula.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We heard Lula's bright red Firebird before it came into sight, the bass from the speakers echoing up the street along with muffled hip hop sounds. Givens and Tim gawked as Lula got out of the car. She'd squeezed her plus-sized self into a petite-sized bright yellow outfit today and accessorized it with sky-high yellow pumps and glittery yellow eye shadow. She resembled a demented Tweety Bird, an effect that was magnified when she narrowed her eyes and regarded Tim suspiciously. "You one a them marshals?"

Tim's mouth was hanging open. Then he closed it and grinned at Lula, apparently deciding to go with the flow. "Hi, I'm Tim."

"First thing, you need a better name," Lula told him. "Ain't never been no badass marshal named Tim. Come to think of it, you need a better wardrobe, too. A polo shirt don't exactly inspire fear, you know what I mean? Look at Raylan over there. You see him, you know he's the shit. Know why he's the shit? Look at them jeans. That man takes denim to a whole other level. His look tells you he's packing and I don't mean that Glock."

We all turned and looked at Givens' jeans.

He ducked his head, adjusted his hat a couple of times and rubbed his eyes. Probably, he was developing a headache exactly like the one I was cultivating. His plan was backfiring, big time.

I was feeling pretty guilty for spilling the beans about Winona's condition so I decided to bail him out. "We should take two cars," I suggested. "Just in case we need to have a car chase."

"Damn skippy," Lula agreed. "Can't have no proper car chase with only one car. Everybody knows that. Let's go, Tiny Tim."

"You can't call me that," Tim protested. "That's an awful nickname. I was a sniper for the Rangers in the Afghan war and I'm a U.S. Marshal."

Lula huffed. "You want a better nickname, we're gonna have to go to Macy's later. Figures I'd get stuck with a defective marshal. This here's another reason why I don't like law enforcement."

We waited for them to get into Tim's truck and then Givens started to snicker. "He's had that comin' for months. Him an' his 'different conversation' and 'peepee dance'. I imagine Tim'll be real humble for a long time after this."

I had no idea what Givens was talking about and decided I probably didn't want to know.

Givens turned to me and there was an evil look in his eyes. "You're not gettin' off Scott free for last night's shenanigans either, so don't get too comfortable."

Yikes.

"Bucky Seidler," Givens said, back to business as he pulled into traffic. "I ran his name last night and nothin' popped. What do I need to know that's not official? Don't leave anything out or you're spendin' the rest of today with Tiny Tim and Lula Lemon."

This was worse than being shot at. "He got suspended from high school for letting a bunch of rats loose in the girls' locker room."

"What else?"

"He's a really good mechanic."

"And?"

"He's got a beer gut."

"I'm disappointed, Plum."

"I can call Sue Ann Grebek and see what she knows," I offered.

Givens' mouth twitched. "In case junior marshal doesn't work out for you, you can be my snitch."

"What do you mean, not work out?" I stared at him, horrified at the prospect of being demoted until I realized he was playing me. "You're going to do this all day, aren't you?"

"Until you redeem yourself."

Oh crap.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bucky Seidler's garage was on Eighteenth Street in an industrial part of Trenton. It was his second try at running his own place, the first being before he went to work for the Toyota dealership. Bucky's new garage was new in name only, previously it belonged to the Pankin brothers. The freshly painted sign declared it to be the home of Mr. Fix-it but the paint was peeling everywhere else.

It was a two-bay structure and the bay doors were wide open. Bucky was wearing a dark blue Cintas coveralls and swearing loudly at a Jetta on the lift. He looked at the four of us as we approached, smiling uncertainly.

"Last time I saw you, your hair was orange," Bucky said to me.

"That was on account of that pipsqueak Stuart Baggett," Lula explained to Givens and Tim. "Stephanie was getting highlights when he showed up the mall and she chased him through Macy's. He got away and her hair turned Bozo the Clown orange."

Tim smirked at me.

"It was a shame about your truck blowing up," Bucky added. "It ran fine after I replaced the doohickey, right?"

"It did," I agreed. I'd had use of my little Nissan truck for a day before Reverend Bill and his Freedom Church nut jobs blew it up with a rocket launcher.

"So what can I do for you?" Bucky asked, looking past me at Givens, Tim and Lula. "Tranny problem on the Town Car? They're known for it."

Givens flashed his identification. "I was hoping we could have a word about Jimmy Bravo."

Bucky shook his head. "No. I don't know anything and I don't wanna know anything. He was a lousy mechanic and he had a stupid name. That's all I'm gonna say."

Uh-oh.

"That's your right," Givens said, strolling past Bucky and peering inside the open bay doors. "It's not like we have a warrant, you know, right _now_. Of course, it's real easy to get a warrant and maybe have Deputy Marshal Gutterson over there stay here, keepin' tabs on who comes and who goes. Between the two of us, we could set up round the clock -"

"Look here," Lula said, cutting off Givens and going nose-to-nose with Bucky. "I know who you are and I know what you been doin' down on Stark Street and with which 'hos. You want me to share _that_ information with Marshal Badass or you wanna tell him what he wants to hear?"

Bucky turned to me and leered. "You want I should tell Marshal Badass what Morelli wrote about you on the bathroom wall of Mario's Sub Shop? It may have been ten years ago but I still remember every single word."

"How about you tell me?" Tim suggested.

I hit Bucky with my meanest look. "Forget the marshals. Forget Lula. Think about what happens to cars that are unfortunate enough to be around me. They catch fire. They _explode_. And sometimes they take other cars to car heaven with them. I can just sit here and you know at least one of those cars is going to be history before sundown."

Bucky sucked in air. "Okay," he said, shoulders slumping. "You win. I'll talk."


	9. On the Trail

Chapter 9 – On the Trail

"Can we discuss this somewhere else?" Bucky asked, his eyes shifting nervously. "Like maybe in my office?"

Givens' eyes narrowed just a fraction and then he nodded. "Sure."

I was yanked backwards by the belt loop in the back of my jeans as I started to follow Bucky and then Givens elbowed his way past me, his hand resting on his gun. It took a second to realize he wasn't being a jerk. I was being stupid. Who knew what was waiting for us inside those open bay doors? But this was Bucky, who I'd known since high school. Sure, he was a creep but he wasn't going to try to kill us, right? Then again, the way Givens was watching him, I started to think maybe it was a possibility.

Givens paused and looked over his shoulder at Lula and Tim. "You two stand watch. Make sure nobody sees Bucky informin' to us."

"I'm real good at being a lookout," Lula told Tim proudly. "See that? I already got marshal skills on account of my experience as a assistant bounty hunter."

The truth was, Lula was a horrible lookout. If cops showed up while I was someplace I shouldn't be, Lula took off and left me to fend for myself. I was pretty sure Tim wouldn't take off but then again he had a pretty weird relationship with Givens.

Great. The more I thought about things, the more freaked out I was getting. I wondered if Givens felt like this. Probably not. Givens wasn't the freaked out type. He was the type who knew what somebody was going to do before they did.

Bucky led us into a small, cluttered office area set off to the far right in an alcove of the garage. There was a battered wooden desk piled with repair manuals, parts catalogs, and had a grease-stained computer. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, sighed and peered up at Givens. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start with hiring him," I said before Givens could speak. Since I'd known Bucky for years, I thought he would probably feel more comfortable with me asking the questions. Givens' hand dropped to my shoulder and squeezed gently, a sign that I was doing the right thing. Maybe he was also telling me I redeemed myself and he wasn't going to torture me for the rest of the day. No. I'd never get that lucky.

Bucky leaned back against the desk, arms folded across his chest, defensively. "I didn't hire him. I was told he was working for me."

"Bobby Barroni?" I asked.

"Yeah. The thing is, I don't think Bobby had much say in it, either." Bucky nodded at me. "You know the story about what happened to the dealership, right?"

"I just thought it was the economy," I said.

Bucky snorted. "Let's just say funding wasn't tied to the economy. Barroni owned the place but he was owned by somebody else. I don't know who and I don't wanna know. What I do know is that little punk Bravo came on, couldn't tell a spark plug from an intake manifold and was banging the assistant sales manager and the receptionist before he was there a week. I gave him bullshit jobs, like driving customers home while we did repairs and picking them up when their cars were ready. He always took a little extra time with the hot women and they always tipped him extra. Then he started screwing Carla."

There was something in Bucky's voice and I asked myself what Givens would do. That was easy. He'd go with his gut. "Were you and Carla an item first?"

Bucky blinked and then he seemed to deflate. "Yeah. We were. The story was Bobby was the one who started screwing around first and she figured she had the right to do it too. She liked to drink but then when she started hooking up with Bravo, I think she might've gotten into other things."

"Was Bravo dealin'?" Givens asked.

"Not that I saw but there were always girls coming around. Never guys. Just girls."

There was a lull and Givens let the silence sit for a minute while he stared hard at Bucky. It was a stare that seemed to say he knew Bucky was holding back and that he was going to stand here and wait until Bucky spilled his guts.

"Bravo did other deliveries for the dealership. Supposedly it was add-ons, like floor mats and stuff but…" Bucky paused again and he looked down at his grease-stained hands. "Bobby took over the record-keeping for the service department around then. It just seemed like we were selling a lot more optional shit than we used to, is all." When he looked back up at us again, he had the look of a man who'd just stepped out of a confession booth, like a great weight had been lifted and his soul was shiny and clean again. "That's all I have to tell you. Probably you should go talk to Carla. It's not noon yet, so she's probably still sorta sober."

I wondered if my mother knew all the things her friend Carla had been doing. I hoped not.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We walked back outside where Lula was jutting her lower lip out at Tim and her eyes were narrowed. I could only imagine what conversation took place out here while we were inside.

"I'm tellin' you a forty-five is better than a Glock," Lula insisted. She turned to Givens. "You got a opinion on the subject?"

"Depends what you're shooting," he answered. "Also what you're comfortable with. How accurate are you with your forty-five?"

Lula couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if she was standing up against it. "I ain't bad."

"Tim should take you down to the range and give you some lessons later. But first," Givens flashed his good old boy grin at Tim who shot a sarcastic grin right back, "I'd really appreciate it if you'd go visit the local PD and find out what you can on Bobby Barroni. Talk to Art, see if he can't get the ball rollin' on getting' everybody on the same page and then let's try to start a task force with Morelli, assumin' he's the right guy. Steph?"

I shrugged. "We don't really talk about his job."

"Too busy doin' the nasty," Lula put in. "I don't blame you. That man is fine." She looked over at Givens. "Bet the Badass doesn't talk about his job either." Then she cut her eyes to Tim. "We're gonna have to work on you."

Tim rolled his eyes. Apparently, he'd given up trying to convince her he was just as big a badass. "Come on. Let's go to the police station and you can keep ragging on me on the way."

Lula froze. "What we going there for? Can't we just call them or something?"

"It's hard to see crime scene photos and files over the phone," Tim explained. I was amazed at how patient he was with her, despite the way she was treating him.

"I guess you can drop me back at the bonds office then. I got a lot of filing to do." It looked like Lula's preference for avoiding the police was about to put an end to her career as a junior-junior marshal.

Givens cocked his head slightly and looked down at her, no doubt putting two and two together. "You know marshals are federal, right, Lula? We outrank the local PD and we get to boss them around. You sure you wanna catch up on your filing?"

The last time I'd seen Lula with the expression of adoration she was beaming in Givens' direction, Tank had just proposed to her. "We? I'm one of the we?"

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a plastic junior marshal badge like the one he gave me in Kentucky. "You're one of the we but you have to do what Tim says. He's the senior marshal, even if he's a shitty dresser and has a stupid name. Okay?"

"Okay," she said.

Ohmigod. Lula was making cow eyes at Givens.


	10. Coffee Cake and Questions

Chapter 10 - Coffee Cake and Questions

"What do I need to know about Carla Barroni?" Givens asked me, his eyes boring into mine across the hood of the Town Car. "You said she's your mama's friend so I'm guessing you might know something useful."

My mother. Oh shit. If we went to see Carla and asked her about Jimmy Bravo, my mother was going to be furious. "I bet my mother could tell you all sorts of things."

His mouth curved upwards and his eyes sparkled. "You want me to question her? Like I just questioned Bucky? You sure about that?"

"No!" I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure you can ask nicely, right? Maybe bring her a coffee cake to soften her up."

"I'm not in the habit of bringin' coffee cake to people I'm questioning."

"That's Kentucky," I emphasized Kentucky with as much Jersey disdain as I could, filling those three syllables with the insinuation that our landfills were classier than his entire home state. "You're in Jersey now, country mouse."

Givens' eyes went wide and then he threw back his head and laughed. "You're on your way to redemption, Junior Marshal Plum. Take me to the bakery and let's go talk to your mama."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My mother was ironing in the kitchen when we arrived. That wasn't a good sign. Some people exercised to burn off feelings of stress and frustration. Others drank. My mother ironed. The house was completely quiet and it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess that my grandmother and father had a fight that ended in both storming out.

She looked up, saw Givens holding the cake box and sucked in air. "Ohmigod. It's true. You're pregnant. I'll see if we can get the PNA Hall. Do we have enough time for pre-Cana so you can have a church wedding?"

"I'm not pregnant!" I grabbed onto the kitchen table to steady myself. "And if I was, it wouldn't be Raylan's. What in the world gave you that idea?"

"People are talking," my mother said, with a shrug.

"What people?" And then it dawned on me. Joyce Barnhardt. She couldn't handle being humiliated by Givens and me while she was in Kentucky and made up a vicious rumor. Typical Joyce. I was going to get even. "Never mind. I know who started the rumor."

"Just so you know, I wouldn't mind having Raylan for a son-in-law," my mother told me. "He has very nice manners."

Givens flashed her an aw-shucks grin. "Thank you, ma'am."

Show-off. "What about Joe?"

"Has he given you ring yet?"

"Not exactly."

"Then you can see this nice young man, too. It's not a sin," she declared.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Plum," Givens said, gently. "I'm involved with a wonderful woman back in Kentucky and we're the ones who are expectin'. I'm fond of Stephanie, though. She's like the kid sister I never had."

Kid sister? Who made cow eyes at their kid sister? Inbred Southerners, that's who. I'd make sure to bring that up if he started in on that redemption crap again.

"I'd like to have a word with you about somethin' else." He took off his hat and set it on the kitchen counter, playing the polite Southern gentleman role to the hilt.

My mother switched off the iron and immediately swung into hostess mode. "How do you take your coffee, Raylan?"

"Black, please, ma'am." While my mother's back was turned, he glanced at me and grinned. I wondered if he figured out who started the rumor and if he'd join me in getting even. Maybe I could convince him getting even was an important Jersey custom.

She set a steaming mug in front of him and cut him a generous slice of coffee cake. There was a slightly wistful look in her eyes, like he was a missed once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Dear God, was there any woman Givens couldn't charm? My mother sat across from him and I could tell she was biting back a sigh. "What did you want to talk about?"

Givens looked over at me but I kept my eyes on my coffee cake. He was on his own. I was the one who was going to have to suffer through family dinners for the rest of my life where this interrogation would be brought up again and again until it would sounded like my mother had been handcuffed and sweated under a bare light bulb.

"Well, ma'am," he said slowly, "my investigation is takin' some unexpected turns. One of the people I need to speak with is Carla Barroni and Stephanie thought you might have some useful insight to share."

My mother's gaze snapped in my direction and it was anything but wistful. It was more like the dragon lady on steroids. Gossip was a sacred thing in the Burg. You could share secrets all day long about the most intimate details of people you barely knew with your friends but it was wrong to discuss them with a stranger. Charming as he was, Givens was a stranger. Probably, he shouldn't have told my mother he wasn't interested in me.

"I know she's your friend and I wouldn't want you to betray her confidence," Givens continued smoothly. "The thing is, Carla might be mixed up with some very dangerous people from Detroit."

My mother made the sign of the cross. "Because of the Toyota dealership?" She turned to me. "You see? This is why your father always says buy American."

"Did she ever mention Jimmy Bravo to you?" Givens asked. His tone was soft, gentle. It was the exact opposite of the way he'd spoken to Bucky. I wondered if he majored in psychology in college or if he just had a gift for how to get people to talk. My usual tactic was pissing them off until they blurted out something useful.

My mother leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "It's the change. Her doctor put her on hormones. Carla was like a sex-crazed teenager after that. She even had plastic surgery."

Face lifts were for the vain freaks living in Princeton. The rest of Jersey earned their wrinkles and saggy boobs the hard way and wore them with pride.

Givens nodded sympathetically. "And Jimmy?"

"She said," my mother crossed herself again, "he was a machine. Can you believe it? A woman of her age carrying on with a boy young enough to be her son. She was always a little wild but she ran around with him to the night clubs and trips to Atlantic City."

"What did Bobby think of all this?" Givens asked.

"Bobby cheated on her before the ink on their marriage certificate was dry." She turned to me and gave me a loaded look that said I'd married someone exactly like him. "I think he was glad she was out of the house."

"This is a really sensitive question," he said, "but I wouldn't be askin' if it weren't important. Did Carla ever mention experimenting with OxyContin?"

My mother nodded. "Her plastic surgeon gave her some after her face lift. She said it was great for the hot flashes." Her voice dropped. "I tried one and ended up burning my meatloaf. It was the first time we ordered Chinese in over a decade. I'll stick to bourbon, thank you."

Holy crap. Did my mother just tell Givens she took a medicinal tipple every now and again?

He flashed her a broad smile. "Nothin' like good Kentucky bourbon to lighten the load."

"Would you like another piece of coffee cake?"

A second piece of cake was unheard of in my house. I looked hard at my mother to make sure she wasn't making cow eyes at Givens. The man was a menace.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"That chicken she's makin' for supper sounds delicious," Givens said as we walked back to the car. "Chocolate cake, too."

I knew trying to convince him to have dinner elsewhere wasn't going to work. My mother invited him and unless we were in the middle of a World War III scale gunfight, we had to be there on time. Or else. I decided to change the subject. "You know it was Joyce who started the rumor."

"I didn't think it was Ranger or Hal," he chuckled.

He thought it was funny? Really? Sure, he wasn't the one who was fictitiously knocked up and whose reputation was being slandered. "I'm getting even. I'm not sure how yet, but it's going to be even better than the time Carol Zabo and her friends tied Joyce naked to a tree by the pet cemetery in Hamilton Township."

Givens smiled. "You want some help with this little endeavor?"

"I thought you'd never ask."


	11. And Here's To You, Mrs Robinson

Chapter 11 - And Here's To You, Mrs. Robinson

Carla Barroni lived in the same neighborhood as my arch-enemy, Joyce Barnhardt. It was a neighborhood occupied by upwardly mobile professionals who had progressed beyond their starter homes to fancy brick houses with columns and cleaning ladies. Their cars were BMWs and Merecedes, all safely locked in their garages.

The Barroni house itself was fancy but the front lawn was weed-filled and the flower beds were all dead. A weather-beaten 'for sale' sign swung in the breeze. Probably it had been on the market since Bobby went to jail.

Givens pulled into the driveway and cut his eyes to me. "I can see the gears turnin', Junior Marshal Plum. Spill."

"Joyce lives a couple of blocks down. I'm thinking maybe we should do some surveillance after we're finished with Carla," I answered.

"Time permittin', I suppose half an hour would be okay.". He got out of the car, adjusted his hat and strolled up to the front door.

Before he could ring the bell, the door swung open and there was Carla. She might have been trying to smile at me but between the face lift and what had to be massive amounts of Botox, all she could manage was a lip twitch. "Stephanie! What a nice surprise! Come in!"

I nearly recoiled at the smell of booze coming off of her. Her hair was expensively highlighted but it looked like a rat's nest. She was wearing a pair of hot pink yoga pants with the word Juicy on the ass and a matching hoodie.

As we walked past, I watched her checking out Givens, her gaze lingering on his butt and crotch before she bothered looking at his face. If he noticed her blatant staring, he was choosing to ignore it. Usually, it was me on the receiving end of the lechery. I was enjoying the break.

Carla led us into a living room that would have horrified my mother. Expensive, overdone furniture was covered in newspapers and magazines. Empty booze bottles were everywhere. "My cleaning lady isn't due until tomorrow," Carla explained.

Yeah, tomorrow some time next year. And then I noticed something white and furry hidden by the sofa. It was the head to Stuart Baggett's Easter Bunny costume. I picked it up. "Is the guy who was wearing this still here?"

"I kicked him out earlier," Carla said, pouring herself a hefty drink of gin. "When I found him hitching a ride by the Quaker Bridge Mall I thought it was my lucky day."

"The rabbit's foot?" I asked.

She looked at me as if I were an idiot. "The Energizer Bunny was supposed to keep going. And going. Let me put it this way, he didn't get my cymbals crashing."

I exchanged looks with Givens and he flashed me the briefest smile, then nodded at me to keep talking to Carla.

"Anthony keeps asking about you," Carla said, taking a big gulp of her drink. "He had such a crush on you when you two were kids."

Anthony Barroni used to flip my skirt over my head in first grade. In second grade, he stole my lunch every day for a week. In eighth grade, he set my hair on fire in chemistry lab. Put succinctly, Anthony Barroni was scum. "How is Anthony?" I asked politely.

Carla snorted. "A low-life like his father. He runs numbers for Vito Grizzoli.". She cast a lingering glance at Givens' crotch. "Maybe I shouldn't say that in front of you."

Yuck! Carla was my mother's age!

Givens sank into the chair opposite Carla, giving her his most harmless look. It was amazing how he adopted a different persona to suit each person he encountered. With my mother, he was a Southern gentleman. With Bucky, he was a hard-assed cop. And with Carla, he was playing along, not exactly flirting but not discouraging her either. "It'll be our little secret, Mrs. Barroni."

"Call me Carla," she purred.

"Carla," Givens repeated obediently. "The reason I'm here is I'd like to have a word about Jimmy Bravo."

Carla let loose with a string of Italian obscenities and hand gestures. Then she narrowed her eyes at me. "If you breathe a word of this to your mother, I'll tell her word for word what Joseph Morelli wrote about you on the wall at Mario's Sub Shop. Anthony told me about it.". She tapped her temple with a blood red nail. "I remember everything."

I doubted that since it looked like she spent her days in an alcoholic stupor but I nodded my agreement anyway.

"Jimmy Bravo?" Givens prompted.

"What did you want to know?" Carla batted her eyes at him.

"Where was he gettin' the Oxy?". It was asked in the same conversational tone Givens used when he asked my mother to pass the gravy.

"Who cares," Carla countered. "I wouldn't care if he stole it from a cripple, it's the only thing that works for the change. Between the hot flashes and the night sweats, I was ready to kill myself. Those stupid hormones gave me vertigo. One Oxy and I felt better than I had in _years._". Her eyes narrowed at him. "You try shutting this down, Dirty Harry, the menopausal women in this town are going to cut you into tiny little pieces and make a meat loaf outta you to serve to their cheating husbands."

Yikes!

If the threat bothered Givens, it didn't show at all. "Jimmy was executed by a fella goin' by the name of the Ice Pick. It's safe to say, someone besides me wants that Oxy route shut down."

"I know him, too," Carla told Givens. "He wears a douchey little hat and mumbles. He'd be better off calling himself pencil dick."

Was there anybody Carla Barroni hadn't slept with? I asked, "Where did you meet him?"

"He was stumbling out of Joyce's place one morning. I usually don't go for her leftovers but he was naked and that got my attention."

Ewwwww! After I was finished being grossed out, I realized this meant we were going to have to question Joyce. Probably it wouldn't take much convincing to get Givens to haul her into an interrogation room. I wouldn't be allowed to question her, but I could watch and eat popcorn. I'd live.

"What about all those girls always hanging around Jimmy at the dealership?" Givens wanted to know.

She shrugged. "His fan club. The saying went, Bravo, Jimmy, what'll you do for an encore and Jimmy, rest his soul, did anything."

This was even more disgusting than being pooped on by Louie LaMarca. Was this what I had to look forward to when I got older? No! My mother wasn't acting like a sex-crazed teenager. But my grandmother was. Unh! Mental head slap.

"Time for you to go, Rawhide. I got Pilates in half an hour and I need to fortify myself." Carla got up and made a shooing motion. "Stephanie, give my best to your mother."

We stepped outside into the sunshine and I made the sign of the cross as I looked up at Givens. He was deep in thought as he unlocked the car. "I hope you're thinking how much fun we can have if you get a warrant to bring Joyce in for questioning."

That earned me a smile. "I was thinking about the menopausal women buyin' up Oxy. Not your usual clientele but smart business. They'd have a nest egg waitin' for retirement -"

"And they'd jump at anything that helps with the change."

"That, too.". His mouth quirked into a smile. "With Bravo gone, somebody's gonna be steppin' in to fill the void. I don't suppose you have any snitches who might have a line on that sorta thing. I'd like to avoid steppin' on Morelli's toes for now."

Truth be told, I didn't have any snitches at all. What I had was access to all the gossip in the Burg but I had a feeling the Oxy pipeline might be one of the best-kept secrets going. On the other hand, I did have an expert in controlled substances that I knew Morelli would never seek out. Not in a million years.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Dude.". Walter "Moon Man" Dunphy was my age, a drop under six feet tall, had long brown hair that was parted in the middle and was perpetually stoned. Today he was a wearing a black Spider-Man T-shirt and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. He beckoned us into his mobile home with his usually goofy grin. "Long time no see."

For a while, Vinnie used the mobile home as our office while the new office was being built. Needless to say, between the all-black interior, the mess and the overwhelming smell of dookey, it was an arrangement that couldn't end soon enough.

If the drug paraphernalia or the smell bothered Givens, he wasn't showing it at all.

"Are you like a cop?" Mooner asked him.

"I'm a U.S. Marshal."

"Far out. Want a Pop Tart?". Mooner opened one of the small kitchen cabinets, displaying an impressive collection of different types of Pop Tarts. "I was having trouble deciding between Fruit Fusion and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough."

"I'll pass, thanks.". Givens glanced over at me, eyebrows arched in the silent question of why in God's name are we here exactly?

I couldn't stop staring at the Pop Tarts. There were so many and the bright colors on the boxes had an almost hypnotic effect. It was easy to see why Mooner was having trouble picking a flavor.

"Stephanie?". Givens tapped me on the shoulder, breaking the spell of the Pop Tarts.

Now that I could think clearly, I knew there was only one reason why Mooner had so many of them. Dougie Kruper, alias the Dealer, was back in business. Dougie was the geek of my high school class. He was useless in gym, had anemic grades and his only useful skill was sucking Jello through a straw up his nose. After high school, Dougie went into business selling things that fell off trucks, like cut-rate Metamucil. Mooner and Dougie somehow forged a friendship despite their limited social skills. The thing was, the Dealer was supposed to be out of business.

"Mooner!". I stalked through the bus and flung open the door to the bedroom. It was piled floor to ceiling with cartons of Metamucil, cartons of Pop Tarts and a carton of Victoria's Secret bras. "Get in here! Now!"

"That's like not mine," Mooner said with a shrug.

I rolled my eyes. "No kidding. Dougie is supposed to be out of business."

"He tried, dude, but all the old people needed their Metamucil. It kept him up nights, worrying they weren't, y'know, regular and he could have done something about it.". Mooner flashed me a beatific smile. "We started like a joint venture. The bus is like a warehouse on wheels so the old dudes can get their stuff easier."

It was like Meals on Wheels but with hot merchandise. I cut my eyes to Givens but he didn't seem to be in an arresting mood.

"So what can I do for you?" Mooner asked. "We're having a special on lingerie this week. Buy six, get a free box of Pop Tarts."

I bit back a sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about Oxy."

"Never touch the stuff," Mooner said solemnly. "I prefer a more organic high. Those chemicals cause cancer and birth defects, dude."

"What if I wanted some?" I asked. "Where would I go?"

"Probably you want to start off with something a little less harsh -"

"I don't. I want Oxy."

He stared at me and for a fraction of a second, his gaze was clear. "You're on a case! Why didn't you say so? I can find out where the Oxy comes from. I'm real discreet."

Discreet as an elephant in a china shop. "I wouldn't want to put you in danger."

Mooner blinked and his gaze went vacant. When he returned to reality, he took a step back. "Danger like that Ice Pick guy?"

Givens perked up at the mention of his fugitive. "You know him?"

"He told Dougie and me we had to pay him a cut of our profits. We weren't, y'know, independent operators anymore. But we fooled him. We just drove the bus somewhere else. He'll never find us.". Mooner grinned and rocked back on his heels.

I exchanged glances with Givens and he gave me a small nod. "If you see the Ice Pick, will you call me? We're looking for him."

Mooner nodded solemnly and held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

I was pretty sure Mooner was never a Boy Scout.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I left the bus with a small pile of lingerie that I was sure Morelli would find interesting and half a dozen boxes of Pop Tarts. Mooner promised to check in with a lead on the Oxy pipeline. It was just about lunch time and we'd accomplished a lot. "What's next?"

"Lunch and then we'll go pick up Wisnewksi the wife beater," Givens answered. "What haute cuisine do you recommend?"

I smiled. Kentucky was known for its fried chicken but they didn't have Cluck in a Bucket. Givens was going to get the crash course in Jersey eating.


	12. Joyce

Chapter 12 – Joyce

It wasn't that big of a surprise to find Lula and Tim at Cluck in a Bucket when we arrived. Since Lula just started her all-chicken diet, it was a foregone conclusion she would be here. They were sitting outside in the sunshine, splitting a bucket of chicken with all of the fixings.

"You have to try this," Tim said as we approached. "I've never seen so much grease in fried chicken before. You'd think it would be gross but it's really good."

"That's special grease," Lula told him.

Givens looked like he might be sick. "Grease, huh?"

"Extra greasy, country mouse," I said, slapping him on the back. It was obvious he didn't like being called country mouse but since he was on his redemption kick and he was in Jersey, I figured I had the upper hand this time around.

Lula reached for the cole slaw and caught me watching her. "What? You can't be expected to eat nothin' but chicken. It's a crime against nature to eat chicken without the fixings."

I went inside to order a couple of sodas for Givens and me and when I came out, Givens was working on his second drumstick.

"You're right about the grease. We'd never eat it this greasy in Kentucky but I suppose you need the grease to kill the airborne toxins," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "You have grease on your chin."

"I have good news," Tim announced. "We've got our joint task force."

Uh-oh.

"Joe Morelli is our point person," Tim continued, shooting a big smile at me. "Raylan and I will be meeting him later to go over the case. Unfortunately, no junior marshals allowed."

"Don't bother me," Lula said. "Me and Stephanie got official bounty hunter business we gotta take care of. There's dangerous fugitives on these streets need their asses hauled back to the clink."

"Like Stuart Baggett?" Tim asked, eying Givens.

Givens grunted and grabbed another drumstick. He swallowed and shot a glare in Tim's direction. "Stephanie and I made some progress. Bravo was peddlin' Oxy to menopausal women as a remedy for hot flashes and our buddy Fletcher the Ice Pick has been gettin' around. He did a double header with Joyce Barnhardt and Carla Barroni."

"Fletcher the cheater," Lula corrected Givens. "I met me some men who knew what a ice pick is for. This doofus is a insult to them."

"Fletcher the cheater," Givens amended. "Stephanie and I were plannin' on picking up that Wisnewski character but I think we should follow the momentum and go question Joyce Barnhardt. She picked the cheater up somewhere, it'd be nice to know where."

"The monkey cage at the zoo?" Lula suggested.

"The free clinic getting treatment for crabs?" I countered. My dislike for Joyce went back to grade school and was made permanent when I caught her screwing my ex-husband. Lula disliked Joyce on general principal.

We exchanged high fives while the marshals rolled their eyes.

Givens blew out a breath. "Maybe you two should try to go pick up that Baggett kid -"

"Unh uh! You ain't cutting us out," Lula protested. "How are us junior marshals going to learn anything when you won't let us watch you interrogate lower life forms?"

"Joyce hates you," I reminded Givens. "You put your boot on her ass and made her cry."

We both made cow eyes at him.

Tim smirked. "Joyce likes me."

"Ewwwww," Lula and I said, screwing up our faces. I told Lula when I came back from Kentucky that Tim had a quickie with Joyce. We were pretty sure it was some kind of Fear Factor type stunt or just temporary insanity.

Givens rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Listen up, junior marshals. You observe. No crackin' wise or instigatin' anything. You interfere in this investigation and marshal school is over. You interfere really bad and I'm gonna charge you with obstruction of justice. Am I understood?"

We nodded solemnly but I was pretty sure we both had our fingers crossed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

We parked in front of Joyce's house and Tim and Lula pulled in behind us. Givens eyed Lula and me sternly. "Both of you stay back behind Tim and me. Remember, not a word."

When he turned his back, I rolled my eyes and Lula discreetly flipped him off.

Joyce flung open her door before the four of us reached it. She was dressed in her bounty hunter uniform - head to toe in leather - which meant she was doing some work for Vinnie. There were five inch heeled black leather boots, black leather pants, a black leather bustier and a cropped red leather jacket. "Out of my way," she snapped at us. "I'm going after Stuart Baggett since Stephanie and the fatso are too incompetent to do it."

Lula made a noise similar to a bull getting ready to charge.

Givens placed himself in Joyce's path, smiling pleasantly. "I'd like a word, Joyce."

"I'll give you two. Screw you.". Joyce gave him the finger. "Move, hayseed!"

"Easy, Joyce," Tim began. I could tell he was hoping Joyce harbored some kind of fond memory of their time together. I guessed he didn't realize that Joyce went through men like Kleenex and thought of her discarded men with as much affection as a used Kleenex.

"Sorry, I don't have another thirty seconds to spare for you," Joyce sneered.

Ouch.

Lula's eyes narrowed. "This here's a U.S. Marshal you're making fun of, you gutter trash. And he's a veteran. You speak nice to him."

"I'll speak to him any way I want, fatso."

"Who you calling fat?"

"You, you big fat fatty."

"Joyce," Givens interrupted, an edge to his voice, "we can talk here or I can bring you in for harborin' a fugitive."

"I'm not harboring anything, dumbass.". She punctuated her sentence by shoving him hard enough to make him stumble.

I cut between them and said, "I heard you were harboring some nasty women's diseases.". Then I shoved her so hard that she fell backwards onto her ass.

Givens grabbed me by the arm, hauling me away from Joyce. "You were seen with Fletcher Nix -"

"And you're going to see my foot up your ass," Joyce shot back. "This isn't Kentucky, moron."

"I told you to speak respectfully to them marshals," Lula said, angrily.

"Why don't you go eat something, fatso?"

Before Lula could respond, Tim grabbed her and hauled her back towards his car. Lula's cop phobia kicked in and she started struggling wildly. We watched in horror as Lula broke his grip and threw her weight on Tim, knocking him head-first against the car door. He dropped to the sidewalk like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"Uh-oh," Lula said, her eyes going wide with panic and then she took off, running as fast as her bright yellow pumps allowed.

"Shit," Givens muttered, reaching for his cell phone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joyce pull out her stun gun to zap Givens while he was distracted, calling for an ambulance. I jumped on her and we went down, punching and slapping each other while calling each other names.

"Skank!"

"Whore!"

"Bitch!"

A sane man would have run the other way but Givens was misguided enough to try to separate us. He got between us as I aimed a punch at Joyce. My fist connected with Givens' jaw and made a 'thwok' noise, snapping his head to the side. His eyes rolled back in his head. Then he collapsed.

Yikes. I stared at him, horrified that I'd managed to cold-cock a U.S. Marshal.

Joyce took advantage of the distraction and zapped me with her stun gun.

My nerve endings sizzled. My hair stood up on end and I started to twitch and drool as I fell on top of Givens. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Joyce stomping on Givens' cowboy hat with her boot and flipping us the bird.


	13. Cheaters Never Win

Chapter 13 – Cheaters Never Win

When I came to, Morelli was standing with Givens and watching as Tim got loaded onto an ambulance. An EMT was examining me and he smiled when he saw I was awake. "We've got a live one."

Givens kept his back to me but Morelli strolled over and peered down at me. "Costanza's going to drive you home."

I looked past him at Givens. "How pissed is he?"

"Surprisingly, not very about being punched but incredibly pissed at having his hat squashed. He managed to get the shape back but there's a pointy heeled footprint on it." Morelli grinned. "He said to tell you you're in the penalty box until morning."

Oh crap. He wasn't speaking to me.

"And Givens is coming over to my place to discuss the case so don't wait up for him," Morelli added. "I'm letting him eat that birthday cake I bought for you. It's the least I can do for the poor guy."

Great. They were going to spend time bonding over cop stuff while I sat around cake-less and feeling guilty. Or...I could grab Stuart Baggett before Joyce got him. Then we'd visit Tim in the hospital. "Tell him -"

"He knows you're sorry." Morelli's eyes went soft, like liquid chocolate, and his voice got husky. "Don't worry, he still likes you more than me. He's just pissed about not getting to question Joyce. I'm pretty sure he'll be over it by the morning. But if he's not, I still like you."

I was sure that would last until they started comparing Stephanie stories.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lula was waiting for me in my parking lot and jumped out of her car the second Costanza drove off. "Is Raylan mad?"

"Yes." I staggered into my building, Lula on my heels. A hot shower, some aspirin and I'd feel better. Kicking Joyce's ass would cure everything.

"How's Tim?"

"Joe called a little while ago and said Tim has a concussion. He's at St. Francis."

"Damn," Lula said. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"If it makes you feel better, I punched Givens in the jaw and knocked him out," I told her. "Then Joyce zapped me."

Lula grinned. "You knocked out big badass Raylan?"

Now that I thought about it, it was pretty funny. Until I remembered how pissed he was. "He's not talking to me."

"That'll blow over. He likes you." Her eyes narrowed in thought. "Know what we should do? We should go to Macy's. I'll buy Tim a nice change of clothes and then we'll go see him at the hospital. He's probably feeling lonely, all by himself in a strange hospital."

More likely, he was savoring the peace and quiet. "That's a good idea except Joyce is going after Stuart Baggett. We need to get to him first." I opened the door to my apartment and nearly jumped out of my skin.

Fletcher the Ice Pick was standing in the middle of my living room, pointing a gun at me. He looked exactly like his mug shot, narrow-faced with dark eyebrows and dark hair that he covered with a weird-looking hat. The hat was a millinery version of Frankenstein, somewhere between a fedora and a bucket and terrifying in its ugliness. "Come in, ladies."

"What'd he say?" Lula asked. "He sounds like he got a mouthful of marbles."

"I said, come in." Fletcher enunciated each word and now he looked pissed. "Shut the door and Stephanie, you go sit at the kitchen table. Big Banana, you stand behind her."

"Who you calling Big Banana, you mumbly little weasel?" Lula wanted to know.

The head was off of my brown bear cookie jar and my gun lay on the counter. I knew it was empty. Bullets were on my grocery list, right under peanut butter. The truth was, I didn't like guns. Especially when they were pointed at me.

"I heard you and that marshal were looking for me," Nicks said.

"I heard you slept with Joyce Barnhardt." It popped out of my mouth before I could stop it so I added a snotty, "Figures."

Nicks raised a dark eyebrow and gave me a once-over. "You want a go before we get down to business?"

"No!"

"Your loss."

I doubted that. Getting shot or ice picked was preferable to being where Joyce was before. Besides, Nicks looked like a weasel in a stupid hat.

"Sit down," Nicks ordered, taking the seat opposite me. "There's a little game I like to play. I suppose your boyfriend Raylan told you all about it, huh?"

It didn't seem like a good time to explain that Givens and I were just friends so I nodded. "He might have mentioned it."

"That's good. Your fat friend over there is going to count down from ten for us."

"Who you calling fat?" Lula demanded, nostrils flaring.

Nicks emitted a low growl of frustration. "I can shoot you and count down myself, fatso. Now start counting. Ten. Nine."

"Eight," Lula said. Even though she was behind me and I was focusing on Nicks, I was pretty sure her eyes were wide with fear. "Six."

"You skipped seven!" I shouted. "It's eight, seven, six! Start over!"

"Keep going. No do-overs in my game," Nicks ordered. Creep.

"Five. Four. Three." Lula's voice shook as she counted down.

Nicks and I stared at each other across the table. The gun lay between us.

"Two. One."

Suddenly, a shot rang out and I snatched my hand back just as Nicks stabbed my cheap kitchen table with an ice pick.

"Don't you touch that gun or I'll blow your stupid head off," Lula ordered, pointing her forty five at him. I knew she'd miss but he didn't and he raised both hands. "Fletcher the Ice Pick, my ass. Fletcher the Cheater is what you are. I knew you was gonna cheat and you were too stupid to think I might be carrying. No smart person would wear a stupid hat like yours. Only stupid cheaters wear hats like that."

Nicks' mouth was hanging open.

"Now we gonna play one of my games," Lula went on. "I'm gonna count from ten and if your bony ass ain't out the door by then, I'm gonna blow your stupid head off. Thing is, maybe I'm a cheater like you and I might shoot before I finish counting. Ready? Here we go. Ten. Nine."

Nicks leaped to his feet.

"Eight - hey, forget about taking that ice pick - seven."

He was out the door by the time she reached five.

I locked the door and attached the security chain.

"Is he gone?" Lula asked.

"He ran down the stairs," I told her.

"Good." Lula's eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted, landing on my floor with a crash.


	14. Fabulous Fourteen

Chapter 14 – Fabulous Fourteen

_Guest written by AndItsOuttaHere_

Morelli unlocked the door and we were immediately attacked by a huge slobbering beast of a dog who barely greeted Morelli before burying his face in my crotch.

"That's Bob," Morelli said. "He does that to everyone. It's his way of saying 'hello'." He paused in the entryway. "Oh, and he eats anything that's not nailed down, so you might want to watch where you set your hat."

I started rethinking my idea of getting a dog once Winona and I found a house.

Morelli led the way inside and Bob trotted happily along behind, nose to my ass. I felt violated. Joe reached into the fridge and pulled out a pack of frozen peas, wrapped the package in a kitchen towel and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I told him holding the ice pack against my throbbing jaw.

"Don't mention it," he said, setting two beers down on the table. "Jersey women pack a wallop."

I took a swallow of beer. It hurt. I slid my jaw from side to side. That hurt more. "Oh, I bet a few Kentucky women I know could hold their own."

"Your Winona one of 'em?" Morelli raised a dark eyebrow.

"She doesn't need to. She's got other methods."

Morelli laughed and tipped the bottle to his lips. "And what would those be?"

I considered this. "Well, she's thrown a shoe now and again." I took a long pull from the beer. "And once she left me for the realtor who was supposed to be sellin' our house."

"I'd imagine that hurt worse than a sock in the jaw."

"Yep." A lot worse. And an ice pack wouldn't have helped. But I didn't want to go into details.

The dog trotted back into the room and sat down by Morelli, who began to scratch his ears. The animal sighed happily and leaned against his leg. "So how'd you get her back?"

"That's a long story. Probably bore you to tears."

He took my empty beer bottle and walked to the kitchen. With his master out of the room, I didn't like the way the dog was eying my hat.

The fridge opened and closed and another beer appeared in front of me.

"What happened to her ex? I believe you didn't kill him, but Gutterson's right; you know why he left."

"I don't think the method I used on Gary would work on Ranger."

Morelli cop-eyed me. "What makes you think I wanna get rid of Ranger?"

I didn't hide my amusement at his denial. "Question is, why wouldn't you want to get rid of Ranger, or rather, why haven't you." I finished off the second beer and set the partially melted bag of peas on the table. "And why haven't you married Stephanie yet?"

A look somewhere between disgust and real worry crossed his face. "It's not like I haven't asked."

"What? 'Quit bounty huntin' and marry me'?" I grinned at him. "That your idea of a proposal? How'd Stephanie like that?"

"It would appear not very well." He swallowed the last of his beer and held up the bottle. "You want another one?"

"Why not?" I nodded.

He came back with two more bottles and took out his phone. "Hungry? I could order us some meatball subs from Pino's. Best in the 'Burg."

"Sure." I wiggled my jaw from side to side. It was feeling better. I could probably get it around a sandwich.

While he ordered the subs took a good look around the place. From where I sat, it was easy to see that Morelli had made a home for himself. Even after six years in Miami I hadn't had this level of domesticity, forget Kentucky and the motel. Until Winona got pregnant I'd only had fleeting thoughts of getting an apartment, never mind a house. Like that commercial said; Having a baby changes everything. As if on cue, the cell phone buzzed from my pocket. I glanced at the lighted screen. Winona.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. How's New Jersey?"

"Dirty, noisy, and crowded. How was your doctor's appointment?" Morelli finished his call and retreated upstairs, giving us some privacy.

There was a puff of air into the phone. "I've gained two pounds."

I'd never been a soldier, but I knew this was a minefield. "That's not much."

Another sigh. "I know, but a couple of more pounds and my clothes aren't going to fit."

"You're aware that eventually you'll need some bigger clothes, right?"

"Yes, Raylan. I'm aware of that." She cleared her throat and when she spoke again there was that familiar teasing lilt in her voice. "I already had to buy some new bras. My boobs are getting bigger."

Damn. She did know exactly how to get to me. "Wish I was there to see for myself."

"Me, too, Cowboy."

I finished the conversation with Winona, promised to call her later, and drank the rest of my beer. When Morelli returned to the kitchen he carried a laptop. "Just looked up some background on that guy you're after...Nicks?" He sat the laptop on the table. An old mugshot of Nicks's filled the screen.

"Yeah, that's him."

"Nasty dude."

"Yep." I knew that first hand. So did Winona.

"Says he was shot in the shoulder in an altercation last time he got arrested, before he busted out. That you?"

"Yep." I knew without a doubt what his next question was going to be.

An eyebrow went up. "So, how many people have you shot?"

"Two or three."

Morelli laughed. "This month?"

"Hey now." I slid my empty bottle across the table and he grabbed it, carrying it along with his own out to the kitchen. I followed with the thawed bag of peas.

"Just toss that in the freezer," he said, putting the bottles on the counter. "And grab us a couple more beers. The subs should be here in a few."

Morelli leaned on the counter by the sink, arms crossed over his chest. I set a beer down beside him and twisted the cap off mine. "I'm tryin' to keep the body count down," I said.

"I'm sure the Marshal Service appreciates that."

"My boss does."

"Mullen, right?" Morelli's forehead wrinkled. "I think that was the guy I talked to when Stephanie was down there."

"Art Mullen." I nodded. "Good man. Good boss."

He raised his bottle and clinked it against mine. "Those are hard to find."

I swallowed. "Yes, they are."

The doorbell rang just then, and we ate our subs in relative silence save for the occasional whine from Bob, who lay on the floor at Morelli's feet. Morelli was right. It was the best meatball sub I'd ever had. New Jersey didn't offer a lot visually, but so far, the cuisine could hold its own with Kentucky.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You're pullin' to the left, just a hair. Try movin' your top hand forward a pinch."

Morelli glared at me. I shrugged. "Just try it. Or not." After finishing the subs I'd asked him if they had a range where I could take some practice. I didn't like to go more than three or four days without shooting. Now, I pushed the button and my target slid forward. Fifteen shots, eight of them dead center, the rest close enough. He stared at the target, adjusted his headset and when he gripped the gun again, his hand was repositioned.

Morelli looked over his shots on the second target. Five of them center mass, all the others respectable. "How'd you know what I was doing wrong?"

"I taught firearms for awhile at FLETC; down at Glynco, in Georgia."

"Instructor, huh? How'd you like that?"

"I liked it fine. Winona liked it more." I hung the headset on the wall hook and slipped on my hat. "That's back when we were married."

Morelli nodded. "She liked the regular hours."

"That and no one shootin' at me; ideally, anyway."

"You gonna get married again?"

I shot him a grin with more confidence than I felt. "She hasn't asked."

"Say," I said as I slipped the Glock into its holster. "Why don't we help Stephanie out, pick up this Baggett guy? You know where he hangs out when he's not dressed up like the Easter Bunny?"

"No, but I know who would."

Morelli took a different route to the Baggett house. At this point, I wasn't sure I could find my way back to his house or Stephanie's apartment. The creeks and hollers of Harlan I knew like the back of my hand, but these streets with their look-alike houses all blended together.

Mrs. Baggett didn't look any happier to see me than she had the first time I came with Stephanie. "I haven't seen him," she said before I could ask about her wayward son. "He didn't come home last night."

I took off my hat and flashed her my best country-boy smile. "Does Stuart have a girlfriend?"

The woman's eyes rolled heavenward. "God, I hope so. Maybe he'll knock her up before you all send him back to prison. At least I'd have a grandbaby to spoil."

Morelli stepped in. "So you don't have any idea where he might be?"

Mrs. Baggett heaved a sigh and twisted the dish towel she held in her hands. "Sometimes he likes to bowl a few frames down at The Lucky Strike, have a beer. He's got a buddy...Frankie Lipowitz...he works there tending bar.

We thanked Stuart's mother and Morelli steered the car down the narrow street, turning onto a busier, well-lit road lined with bars and pool-halls. The bowling alley sat at one end of a run down plaza, flanked by a pawn shop and a pizzeria. Morelli glanced at me as he pulled into a parking place.

"I'd lose the hat," he suggested. "And let me take lead. This is my territory."

I set the hat on the floor, shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and followed Morelli into The Lucky Strike.

This might be Morelli's territory, but a bowling alley is a bowling alley. The women's hair was teased quite a bit higher, but other than that and the annoying nasal accents, you could've set this place down in the middle of Lexington and no one would've noticed the difference.

Tonight the alleys were mostly full, and there were only two empty stools at the long bar lining the back wall. I realized I wouldn't know Baggett if I saw him, unless he was still dressed like a giant rabbit. And I didn't think that was likely. The picture of Stuart from Stephanie's file was a bit hazy in my mind. The guy behind the bar though, had to be Frankie Lipowitz. Lipowitz was short and burly, with receding brown hair and a ridiculous handlebar mustache straight out of the old west dominating the lower half of his face. Evidently, he knew Morelli.

"Hiya, Joe. You want a beer?"

"Nah, 'fraid not, Frankie.". Morelli flashed his badge. "I'm here on official business. You seen Stuart Baggett lately?"

"No." Lipowitz answered too quickly and his eyes darted to the left. He was lying. I followed his gaze and noticed a doorway, likely to the kitchen, if there was one, and any offices.

"He's in the back," I said to Morelli.

"Who's this guy?"

I trained my gaze on Frankie. "Is there a back door outta here?"

"Y-y-yeah," he stammered. "But there's an alarm goes off if you use it."

He wasn't lying about that. The alarm sounded and Morelli pushed his way past Lipowitz and through the double doors into the back. I followed.

"Hey, hey...are you a cop, too?" Frankie called after me. "I'm not supposed to let no one back there. Hey!"

I heard a crash from the alley behind the plaza and drew my gun, holding it low at my side. I didn't see Morelli at first as I slipped outside, keeping my back to the wall of the bowling alley. From my right came the clatter of garbage cans crashing over and swearing.

"Sonofabitch!" A hand came up from the pile of trash, then Morelli's head appeared. Coffee grounds covered one shoulder, and there were potato peelings in his hair. I gave myself bonus points for not busting out laughing.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"He got away. What's it look like?" He swept one hand through his hair. "Squirrely little bastard."

"Where's your gun?"

He glared at me, brushing the coffee grinds off his jacket. "Unlike you," he said. "I try not to shoot people."

Before I could retort, my cell buzzed. I glanced at the screen, which was showing an unfamiliar number. "Deputy Marshal Givens," I answered.

"Please hold for Assistant Director Goodall," a voice said.

"What the hell?" I muttered. Morelli raised an eyebrow at me, questioning.

"Hello, Raylan," Karen Goodall said. "I need you."

I took a deep breath. Shit.


	15. Worlds Collide

Chapter 15 – Worlds Collide

This chapter was written by the incredible AndItsOuttaHere. 

"So this Goodall is the Assistant Director of the Marshal Service now?" Morelli asked. We'd stopped by the house so he could let Bob out and grab a quick shower to wash off the garbage smell.

"Yeah." I leaned back against the counter and sighed. It had already been a long day and now it was just gonna get longer.

He'd made a pot of coffee and pulled two travel cups out of the cupboard. "And the two of you had a thing."

"Yeah. Sorta. It was a few years ago, when we were both in Miami." It'd been more like a two- night stand. We spent my first year in Miami dancing around each other, but I was too numb from the divorce to do anything about it. By the time I was interested, she was with someone, and so it went, lousy timing all the way around, until about two months before Tommy Bucks and my involuntary transfer. We spent a weekend in bed, but the fire had burned out quickly, for me anyway. I liked Karen, and we were certainly sexually compatible, but while that seemed to be enough for her, it wasn't for me. I hadn't missed her when I left Miami.

"That'd be before Tommy Bucks."

I shot him a dirty look. "Yeah, before Bucks."

He grinned. "She still got a thing for you?"

I shrugged. "I got that impression when she was in Kentucky a few weeks back."

"She know about Winona?"

"She knows I'm with someone, but not who."

"Winona know about her?"

"Nothin' to know." I picked up my hat and grabbed one of the coffees. "Come on. Let's find out what the woman wants."

"You mean besides you?"

I tipped the hat down lower and shook my head. "I'll drive."

Karen was waiting for us in the Marshals Trenton office. "Good to see you, Raylan," she said. "Who's your friend?" She looked Morelli up and down, sizing him up.

He held out his hand. "Joseph Morelli, Trenton PD."

"We don't really need..."

"He's with me. Shadowing. That okay, Karen?" I smiled.

Her eyes met mine for a moment. "Sure, come on in and I'll tell you what's going down."

We fell in behind her as she turned down the hall. She swung her hips a bit more than necessary and Morelli shot me a grin.

Karen stopped in front of a large bulletin board. "There was a fire two nights ago. Looks like a guy we've been after; Benito DeValli."

"Benny the Blowtorch?" Morelli said. "I thought he was in prison."

"He was."

"So how'd he get out?"

Karen sighed. "He was being transferred to testify and..."

Morelli grinned. "The Marshals screwed up?"

Karen didn't smile back. "Mistakes were made. Those involved have been dealt with."

While they got to know each other, I stared at the board. It was covered with photos of a burned out building, but from the charred remains it was impossible to tell what the place had been before the fire gutted it. The next row showed two bodies, face down, not that their faces would have helped identify them. There was a mugshot posted next to one of the photos.

"Rico Caravelli" Morelli said. "I wondered where he'd been. Damn. Looks like he finally got in over his head."

Karen was interested now. "You know him?"

"If you count arresting him every six months or so since back when he was a juvie, yeah, I know him."

"So...who was he working for?"

Morelli glanced at me.

I got a sudden flash. "Was he part of that investigation you thought might bump up against mine?"

He sighed and nodded. "He was a snitch. Not a very good one, but we got some info from him on that Nicks guy you're after."

"When was the last time you talked to him?" Karen asked.

Morelli thought for a minute. "I guess about a week ago, maybe a little longer."

"That fits." Karen nodded and wrote a date beside the picture. "The fire was two days ago." She tapped the second photo. "Any idea who he might have been associating with?"

"He used to hang with a kid named Levi Spinelli."

"What kind of name is that?" I asked, helping myself to a cup of too-strong coffee. It didn't look like I'd need to worry about sleeping tonight anyway. I raised an eyebrow at Morelli, and when he nodded, poured him a cup as well.

"Thanks." He took a sip, made a face, a and leaned back on a nearby desk. "Levi's mother is Jewish, his dad's Italian. He was raised Orthodox, yarmulke and all. Swears he's never committed a crime on Shabbos." He chuckled.

"We're waiting for the dental records to come back on the second guy." Karen said.

"That's not Levi." Morelli said. "If he was missing, his mother would've been down at the station demanding we start an investigation. Not to mention posting 'missing' posters all over the 'Burg."

"How old is this guy?"

"Thirtyish." Morelli took another sip, stared at the cup and set it down. "Ken Azzariti," he said. "Gotta be. That would be Rico's go-to guy if Levi wasn't available."

Karen sat on the edge of the desk across from him and crossed her legs, swinging one and dangling her stiletto off her toes. "Tell me about him."

Morelli grimaced. "Sad case. Kenny isn't...wasn't..." he corrected. "...all there. He went to school with Steph and I, but he was in the slow class. Had a speech problem, too. Kids picked on him, but Rico's older brother always protected him. No one messed with Danny Caravelli."

"Where's Danny now?"

"Parksville."

Karen wrinkled her forehead. "Is that a prison?"

"It's a cemetery."

"What happened?" I pulled a desk chair out and sat down, deliberately angling away from Karen. She huffed a breath and pretended to be interested in Morelli's answer.

"He put his motorcycle over a highway abutment on the Garden State Parkway about four years ago. Before that, Rico was manageable...after that, he went off the deep end in a big way." Morelli shook his head. "He was a nice kid once. Or at least not a total jerk. Now he's dead like his brother. Aww, shit. Someone's gotta tell Mrs. Caravelli."

Karen slid off the desk and smoothed her skirt. "No time like the present." She picked up her keys and purse. "Let's go, boys."

"Did she just call us boys?" Morelli hissed as I sat the hat on my head.

"Yep."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Someone beat us to Mrs. Caravelli. When Karen angled the Escalade into a spot in front of the Caravelli's gray and white duplex I spotted a familiar vehicle. So did Morelli.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Morelli said, getting out and slamming the door with more force than necessary. He took toward the door in long strides.

"Who's 'he'? Karen asked.

"They call him Ranger," I said. "Real name; Ricardo Carlos Manoso. Special Forces. Something of a legend. Gutterson knew about him."

"You met him?" She matched my pace to the door, no small feat in those heels.

"Recently."

"He above board?"

I laughed. "Not hardly."

Morelli was already ringing the doorbell by the time we made it up to the porch. The door was opened by an attractive woman who looked to be somewhere between sixty and seventy. Her silver-white hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and she wore a white shirt with the collar turned up and khaki slacks with a sharp pleat.

"Joseph Morelli," she smiled. "I haven't seen you at Mass lately. I'll tell your grandmother on you!" She shook a finger at him, but her eyes were bright and mischievous. I hoped she had other children besides the long dead Danny and the recently deceased Rico. Maybe a daughter, married, with a couple of kids to keep the smile in those eyes.

"Mrs. Caravelli," Morelli said, taking the woman's hand. "I regret that my hours prevent me from going to Mass as often as my grandmother would like."

"What brings you here, Joseph? And who are your friends?"

Karen stepped past me and Morelli and held out her hand. "Karen Goodall, Ma'am, Assistant Director of the U.S. Marshal Service."

"U.S. Marshals? Like that movie with Tommy Lee Jones?" She looked past Karen and met my eyes. "I like Tommy Lee Jones, don't you?"

"He's a fine actor, Ma'am." I took off my hat. "Deputy Raylan Givens, also with the Marshals."

"You might as well come in," she said. "I have another visitor and there's coffee." she led us through a well-kept modestly furnished living room into a large kitchen. It smelled like coffee and there was a chocolate cake on the counter that reminded me of Morelli's promised birthday cake that never materialized. Ranger was leaning on the counter, arms crossed in front of him.

"Morelli," Ranger said with a smirk. "And the Marshal, and..." He looked Karen up and down and slid his eyes back to me.

"This is Karen Goodall, Assistant Director of the U.S. Marshal Service."

"Ma'am," Ranger said with a nod. He didn't offer his hand and Karen clasped hers behind her back, eyes on Morelli.

"Mrs. Caravelli, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

She sank into a kitchen chair. "It's Rico, isn't it." She folded her hands together on the table. "Goddamn you, Marco," she murmured.

"Rico's dead, Mrs. Caravelli." Morelli's voice was quiet and measured. He'd done this before. "I know this is hard, but do you know who he was hanging around with lately?"

She shook her head. "Rico wasn't living here. He had a girlfriend, I think he was living with her."

"You know her name?"

"No, but Christina would know."

"I remember her," Morelli smiled. "Nice girl."

Mrs. Caravelli gazed up at him, her face impassive. "One out of three. Guess that's what I get for marrying Marco Caravelli."

"Is there a number where I could reach her? I could ask her to come and be with you, too, if you want."

She rattled off a number, but shook her head. "I'll call my sister. I've been through this before, Joseph. I'll be alright."

Morelli looked at Ranger. "I suspect you're here looking for Levi Spinelli."

Ranger gave a slow nod. "I take it so are the Marshals."

"Yes, we're very interested in talking to him," Karen said. "Could you help us out Mr. Manoso?"

"Mr. Manoso?" Ranger almost smiled. "Sure, Ma'am. Maybe I can help."

"Call me Karen." She stepped past Morelli and I, her body leaning ever so slightly toward Ranger.

Joe turned his head and hissed in my ear. "Maybe he'll take her back to the Bat-Cave and solve both our problems."

Ranger gave an odd glance our way, as if he might have heard, though I didn't see how he could have.

"I can work my connections," Ranger said. "I hear all kinds of interesting things. For example, how an experienced cop let an inexperienced con give him the slip at a bowling alley." His eyes cut to Morelli. "Poor guy had to go home and change."

Karen's gaze went from Ranger to Morelli and back to me. "This little pissing contest is interesting, boys, but it isn't getting us any closer to our goal."

Ranger's eyes narrowed. "Boys?"

Morelli snorted.

"Spinelli?" I called attention back to the reason we were here, one of them anyway.

"Let me make a few phone calls." He slipped the cell phone from his pocket and went outside.

Morelli turned to Mrs. Caravelli. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, taking her hand in both of his. "You need anything at all, you give me a call."

She kissed his cheek. "You're a good boy, Joseph."

"We'll see ourselves out."

He led the way and I stepped aside for Karen to follow. "Where are you staying, Raylan?" She asked.

"Tim and I got a room." I lied.

"Not at the Hilton." She smiled at me. "It's a suite with a jacuzzi tub." I ignored the obvious invitation and her mouth slid into a tight line. "I don't need you or your cop friend anymore tonight. Go get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow"


	16. New Uses for the Hat

Chapter 16 - New Uses for The Hat

My hand shook as I unhooked the security chain to let Morelli and Givens in to the apartment. Morelli brushed past me to do a quick sweep of my apartment and Givens examined the lock.

"This is a top of the line lock," he commented, turning to Morelli. "Not a problem for Nix since he installed security systems but it might have slowed him down some."

"We could put a vault door on and they'd still find a way in," Morelli told him. "Ranger and I must have fortified this place over a dozen times already. It doesn't matter. This apartment is like Grand Central Station for bad guys."

Great. They were best friends already.

I was pulled into a tight embrace and it took a few seconds of staring at Morelli to realize it was Givens who was holding on to me. Morelli raised an eyebrow and smirked. I guessed now that they were buddies, he wasn't worried anymore that Givens might be more than a friend.

"I shouldn't have sent you off by yourself," Givens said. "These are dangerous people we're goin' after."

When he let go of me, I saw the bruise on his jaw. Probably since he was in such a forgiving and protective mood it was a good idea not to mention how sorry I was.

"You pack a helluva punch," he commented, rubbing his jaw and studying the ice pick lodged into my kitchen table.

Morelli lifted my gun from the kitchen counter. "Empty and not recently fired so where did the bullet hole in the wall come from?"

"You don't want to know," I said.

"Lula." Givens grinned at me, then winced and rubbed his jaw again. "She had a forty five in her purse. Did she manage to wing Nix?"

I shook my head. "She scared him off."

"Scared him off?" Givens echoed in disbelief. "You coulda had him lay face down on the floor and cuffed him. Between the two of you, he wasn't goin' anywhere."

"He was going to kill me." And then I started to cry.

"Shit," Morelli said, blowing out a frustrated breath. "She's not a marshal, Raylan."

"She's a bounty hunter," Givens argued. "You shoulda seen her with that bomb in Harlan."

"Ever see a bounty hunter cry?" Morelli asked him.

Givens sighed, pulled me to him again and rubbed my back. "Shh, Steph. We're goin' to the range first thing in the morning and we're not leaving until I'm satisfied you're not scared of your gun anymore."

Morelli cleared his throat. "You mind? That's my job."

"Sorry. Here." Givens handed me over to Morelli.

"Pay attention to Raylan tomorrow. He taught firearms to all the baby marshals so I'm sure he can teach you. I'll feel a lot safer knowing he taught you how to shoot," Morelli said.

I was beginning to feel like a complete loser. "I know how to shoot!"

The two of them snorted.

I narrowed my eyes and gave them my meanest PMS look. "I've shot people."

"On purpose?" Morelli asked.

"You know I did."

"She shot the shit out her purse too. Her gun was still in it at the time," Morelli told Givens.

They shared a chuckle over that one.

I would have shot both of them but I didn't have any bullets. Instead, I stomped to my refrigerator, flung it open and saw that all my beer was gone. There was no cake. There was nothing, except a mostly empty jar of olives and some scary looking cheese. I slammed the refrigerator door shut and snatched my bag from the floor. This was an emergency and I needed chocolate.

Givens caught my arm. "Whoa! Where do you think you're goin'?"

"She needs chocolate," Morelli explained.

My left eye started to twitch. I was being tag-teamed and I didn't have any chocolate. This was so unfair!

"If you stay right here, I'll go to McDonalds and get you a big chocolate shake and fries," Morelli offered.

"I need a Snickers," I said peevishly. "Getting almost ice picked calls for a Snickers."

"I thought it called for bourbon," Givens said, "and come to think of it... Hey, Morelli, maybe I oughtta go fetch that chocolate for our gal while you take care of that other thing almost bein' ice picked calls for. Is an hour enough?"

"Wait a damn minute," I protested. "Maybe I want to get my own chocolate. Maybe I want a Kit Kat _and _a Snickers. And maybe I want the kind of filthy sweaty sex that takes _hours,_ that even deaf Mr. Morganstern down the hall will hear. And maybe -" I snatched Givens' hat from the coffee table, "Maybe I want to borrow this."

Both men were gaping at me but it was Morelli who recovered first.

"Shit. She didn't shave her legs," he told Givens. "She always goes a little nuts if -"

"Say no more," Givens said. "Been there, done that."

I threw the hat back at Givens, stomped into my bedroom and slammed the door. Then I reconsidered, came out, grabbed the hat from a stunned Givens, went back into the bedroom and slammed the door even harder. My light fixtures and windows shook from the force.

I was going to wait two minutes and then start moaning Ranger's name.

It would serve both of them right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I was still pissed when I woke up. It was a little after one in the morning and my eyes felt like someone sandpapered them. My head throbbed. In other words, I felt perfectly normal for someone who almost got ice picked to death. Sliding off my bed, I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against it. I didn't hear either Givens or Morelli but I knew at least one of them was out there, lying in wait.

"I can hear you movin' around in there," Givens called to me.

I rolled my eyes.

"And you just rolled your eyes."

Blowing out a sigh, I opened the door to find Givens on my sofa, paging through a thick file of crime scene photos.

Before I could ask where Morelli was, Givens told me. "He got a call. Someone killed Carla Barroni and torched her house."

I sucked in air, all pissed off feelings gone. "Was it Fletcher?"

"Don't know. She was burned to a crisp so we're gonna have to wait for the autopsy results. Doesn't seem like his style though" Givens held up two jumbo sized bags of miniature Snickers and Kit Kats. "I got you these. I also stocked up your fridge. Nothin' too healthy, of course. If Tim wants that shit, he'll have to use his per diem to pay for it."

It was impossible to be pissed at Givens. Even without the hat. Speaking of the hat... "I had an idea. We can take your hat to Vito Grizzoli's dry cleaner shop and you can scope out the operation."

"Good thinking, Junior Marshal Plum." He flashed a grin at me. "Looks like that nap did you some good."

I opened the fridge and gasped at the contents. Givens spent more in one grocery trip than I spent on food in a month. There was milk, juice, eggs, cold cuts, fresh fruit, beer and two of the most important things in the world - peanut butter and marshmallow Fluff. No wonder his ex-wife was back with him. Givens was _that_ good. Maybe he'd rub off on Morelli.

Without turning around, Givens said, "Morelli mentioned you liked peanut butter and Fluff."

"Ever try it?" I asked him, taking out a loaf of bread and making a sandwich. Okay, Morelli was pretty good too. He remembered the Fluff.

"Can't say I have." He was watching me, unsure what to make of my late dinner.

"It's a great time-saver," I explained. "Your main course and dessert in one." I handed him the finished sandwich. "I'd never fib to you about food."

He cautiously took a bite and then smiled. "Not bad."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Not bad, my foot. I'd seen the food in Kentucky and it was pretty obvious why Givens was so lean. Food there was nothing compared to what could be had in Jersey.

"It's likely the person who torched Carla and her house was Benny the Blowtorch," Givens said, pointing to a file and chewing his sandwich. "That's part of a larger operation the marshals are workin' on with the Trenton PD."

"Benny the Blowtorch?" I echoed weakly. Benny was an enforcer for the mob. There were all sorts of rumors about how he got his name and every one of them scared the crap out of me.

"You know him?"

"No!" And I didn't want to know anyone whose name included the word blowtorch.

Givens narrowed his eyes in thought as he looked at me. "I'd rather not cut you out of the investigation but there's an assistant director who I know won't take kindly to your presence at the crime scene."

That was fine with me. I didn't want to look at Carla's burned body or her torched house.

"I stopped by the hospital and collected Tim's badge and gun while I was out runnin' errands." He held up a shoulder rig and a badge. "You're gonna borrow 'em. Anyone asks, you're shadowin' me and learnin' the ropes which isn't exactly a lie."

I backed up a step. "You want me to impersonate a federal officer?"

"I deputized you, remember?" His mouth curved into a smile. "I want you to go change. Jeans are fine but put on a nice shirt and a blazer." The smile faded and he held up a hand. "On second thought, you got a nice skirt suit?"

I knew there was something he wasn't telling me. Something I was going to regret not knowing. "You want a business-y one or a sexy one?"

"Go with the sexy one. I have a plan. You trust me, right?"

On one hand, he stocked my fridge and got me peanut butter and Fluff. On the other, I knew there was something about this assistant director he wasn't telling me. Probably, the guy was a lech. If that was the case, I'd be eye candy while Givens would make sure he kept his hands off me.

I hoped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Givens waited patiently while I showered, did the hair and makeup thing and finally emerged in a tightly tailored black skirt suit and off black stockings with seams going up the backs of my legs. I finished the outfit off with a pair of sexy black patent heels. There was only one problem. The shoulder rig didn't fit under the jacket and it was as uncomfortable as hell.

"Take off the jacket," Givens ordered.

I was wearing a silky little camisole underneath the jacket and the harness of the shoulder rig chafed when Givens fitted it on me. "The gun is digging into my breast," I complained. "Maybe we can skip the gun."

"You're supposed to be a marshal. Marshals carry."

"What if I carried it in my purse?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Why can't you use the shoulder holster?" I suggested.

"I prefer to carry at my side. Faster draw." He frowned at me and then brightened. "Call Ranger. I'll bet he has a gun and proper holster for you that'll be here in less time than it takes to have a pizza delivered."

Call Ranger. Like it was that easy. Ranger was running a tab for every favor I asked. I picked up my cell phone and punched in his number, then left a voicemail. He called back and I explained the situation to him.

Eight minutes later, Hal rang my doorbell and handed me a box. He nodded a hello at Givens, turned and left. Hal was a lot like Rex. Limited interaction but it was never frivolous.

Givens took the box over to the counter and smiled. "Oh, this is perfect. C'mere, girl, and see the pretty gun your other boyfriend sent you."

"He's not my boyfriend!" And he wasn't. Ranger didn't do normal things like have relationships. Ranger was an experience that could only be handled in small doses. I was okay with that.

"Look," Givens said, holding up a scary looking black gun. "It's a mini Glock. Just like mine, only smaller."

Ranger had given me a mini Glock once before. I wondered if it was the same one.

Givens passed me the box. "Show me you know how to load it."

"Why does it have to be loaded?" I countered. "Yours is loaded. That's enough."

"Stephanie, we're dealin' with an ice pick killer and a guy who calls himself blowtorch. Load the gun." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You need me to show you how?"

I blew out a sigh and loaded the gun.

"Put the safety on so you don't shoot yourself or me." Givens took the gun because I was fumbling with it and snapped the safety into place. "This is the safety -"

"I know that. I just broke a nail trying to make it work." I held up my hand to show him my damaged manicure.

"Jesus," he muttered.

"I don't like guns."

"You're killin' me, Junior Marshal Plum."


	17. Everybody Hates Karen

Chapter 17 - Everybody Hates Karen 

We had to park a couple of blocks away from the Barroni house because of the fire trucks, Trenton cop cars and unmarked cars that were both Trenton and probably marshals service. Carla's house had partially collapsed and neighbors were standing on their front steps, gawking. They were all probably thinking this kind of thing happened in other parts of Trenton and now it was going to hurt their property values. I didn't see Joyce anywhere and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

Givens angled himself out of the car, took in the scene and hit me with a serious look. "The locals know you so I'm gonna have to hustle you past them. Don't say a word."

"Maybe I should just stay here," I suggested.

"Unh-uh. I need you." His expression softened. "You trust me, right?"

I did. He was the only person with a badge that never tried to cut me out. "Sure."

"Come on, then."

We found Carl Costanza and Big Dog at the perimeter and Costanza rolled his eyes when he saw me. "No bounty hunters allowed."

"She's with me," Givens told him. "Part of the marshals' task force."

I waited for the cops to laugh but they just lifted the tape and let us in. It was amazing how nobody questioned anything that came out of Givens' mouth.

We made our way towards a cluster of men in nylon U.S. Marshals windbreakers and in the center of the cluster was a woman. She was a few years older than me, with dark hair and brown eyes and a killer complexion. Like me, she was wearing a tight black skirt suit but her skirt was way tighter and her jacket was hanging open, exposing a low cut green silk blouse.

She turned and smiled at Givens. The smile was warm, intimate and not at all professional. "Raylan. Glad you could make it." When she directed her attention at me, the smile she gave me made the temperature drop ten degrees. "Who's this?"

"This is Stephanie. She's shadowin' me, learning the ropes." Givens rested a possessive hand on my shoulder. "Steph, this is Assistant Director Karen Goodall."

Oh shit. This was the assistant director! Now I understood why I was here. It wasn't because Givens needed me to help him investigate. He needed me to keep Goodall's lecherous advances away from him. I gave her a friendly smile and added a respectful, "Ma'am."

"Newbie, huh?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good to have you here, Stephanie." She smiled coldly as she said my name. "I need a grande latte, nonfat. Raylan, how do you take yours?"

Givens' grip on my shoulder tightened. "Stephanie's been fetchin' coffee plenty in Lexington. She needs to work a crime scene."

Karen gave Givens another bright, flirty smile. "All right, then." She started walking, stopped and eyed me with a look that said she was going to make my visit hell. "Try not to puke on the crime scene, rookie."

Givens kept an arm slung around my shoulder as we followed Karen. I tried a couple of times to shake his arm off without being obvious about it, but he was determined to keep up the illusion that we might be more than friends. People tended to assume that anyway, but the way he was hanging on to me left no room for doubt.

We stopped in front of the body bag on a gurney by the coroner's van and Karen's phony smile was fixed in place as she asked me, "Ever see an extra crispy?"

Spots danced in front of my eyes and the most I could manage was a head shake.

"She doesn't need -" Givens started to protest but it was too late.

Karen unzipped the bag and the horrible smell of burned flesh escaped the body bag. It smelled a little like pork but in a gross kind of way. Carla Barroni was unrecognizable. Her skin was charred, bubbled and flaking off in spots. This was quite probably the most horrifying, disgusting thing I'd ever seen and I knew I would see it over and over in my nightmares for a long time.

The peanut butter and Fluff sandwich I'd eaten earlier threatened to come up and my breath was coming in shallow gasps as I gagged from the smell.

Givens quickly hauled me away, bent me over and rubbed my back. "Deep breath. Hold it. Exhale. Again. One more. If you gotta throw up, go ahead but between you and me, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction."

"This is your fault," I managed finally, still hunched over. "Why couldn't you just let her grab your ass or whatever instead of making me her target?"

He crouched beside me. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. 'Sides, I didn't think she'd be that mean to you. We all haze the rookies but not like that."

A plan started to form as my stomach settled. I knew exactly how to pay Karen back. In spades. I straightened and Givens came up with me and I could tell he was genuinely sorry. It was really hard to be mad at the guy.

"Whatever, you're thinkin' -"

"No. I'm not a marshal and I don't have to take her crap."

"You might be a marshal someday," he countered.

"And she'll know not to screw with me then, won't she?" I took one more deep breath and cut my eyes to Karen. She was watching our hushed conversation, paying close attention to the way Givens hovered over me. I could tell she was jealous. "Did you two ever, you know?"

"One weekend. Didn't work out," Givens shrugged.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time?" I asked, throwing his words back at him.

He grimaced. "She's pretty, understands the job and was really into me. Problem was, no matter how I tried, I couldn't return the feeling."

Givens was intimately close to me and Karen's mouth was now a thin, disapproving line. I knew she wasn't through giving me hell and seeing Carla's body was probably the tip of the iceberg. If I was going to be the target of all her pent-up frustration over Givens' lack of interest, I was going to have some fun at her expense.

Before he could stop me, I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down to me, kissing him hard. It was just for show, I told myself. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to kiss me back. He thought of me as a kid sister.

And then Givens kissed me back.

The man knew how to kiss.

Ohmigod.

We broke apart and stared at each other.

"That'll give her something to chew on," Givens said, with a grin.

That's when I remembered the Trenton cops on the scene. Morelli wasn't going to chew on anything. He was going to spit nails and spew fire when he heard about this.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Feeling better?" Karen asked, without a hint of sincerity and now she was hitting Givens with hostile looks.

"Yes, ma'am, thank you." I looked up Givens with my biggest cow-eyed expression. "Raylan made sure I was okay."

I could see the weight of that statement hit the two of them like a sledgehammer. Givens realized his plan was backfiring, big time, and Karen barely hid a scowl as she took in my use of Givens' first name on top of our game of tonsil hockey.

There was only one weapon remaining in her arsenal that she could use and that was her ability to give me orders. I could almost see her trying to come up with the most menial task possible. Unfortunately for her, the fire fighters were still investigating and the Trenton cops were questioning neighbors. There wasn't much of anything else for her to dump on me.

I, on the other hand, had something huge to dump on her. "Raylan and I spoke to Carla earlier and it turned out that she had relations with the fugitive, Fletcher Nix, recently. She said she met him coming from the home of a neighbor and he was naked at the time."

"Were you able to question this neighbor?" Karen asked, her eyes ticking from Givens to me.

Givens started to answer but I cut him off, knowing he was going to get me for this later. "She was uncooperative, ma'am, and I didn't have grounds to bring her in for questioning."

"What about harboring a fugitive?" Karen scolded me. "God, what do they teach you people these days? Raylan, if you can't train a rookie, have her transferred to someone who can."

"We -" he began but I interrupted again.

"I didn't tell Deputy Givens that I screwed up the assignment, ma'am." I hit him with cow eyes again. "Sorry, sir."

Karen blew out a frustrated breath. "Who is this person, Stephanie? Give me her name and I'll question her myself."

"Joyce Barnhardt, ma'am." I hoped like hell Karen intended to punish me by making me watch how a professional handled Joyce. "She works part time as a bounty hunter for the Vincent Plum Agency."

She turned to one of the other marshals. "Go pick her up." Then she directed her attention back to me. "I'll take that latte now."

"Yes, ma'am." Did she really not think I'd probably spit in it? How the hell did she ever get to be an assistant director of anything? She would never have survived a week in Jersey.

Dead bodies aside, I didn't think being a marshal was going to be so hard after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Half an hour later, Joyce was in a conference room at the marshals' task force office in Trenton and I was invited to watch the show. Givens didn't say a word to me on the drive over but I knew there was a lecture coming at some point. Either that, or he'd gang up on me with Morelli, if Morelli didn't start beating him up for kissing me back first.

My life was complicated. It was a good thing I had beer in my fridge and two big bags of chocolate.

"Now you're going to see how a professional questions a witness," Karen told me.

Givens shot me a look that was full of warning. "You're just observing, understand?"

"Yes, sir," I told him, gazing at him worshipfully.

Karen glared at me for a beat and then led us into the conference room.

Joyce was already in a foul mood and seeing Givens and me looked like it might push her over the edge. From the skimpy outfit she was wearing, the massive amount of mascara and the height of her teased out red hair, I guessed she might have been on a date, probably with someone else's husband. "Stephanie Plum! I should have known!"

Karen cut her eyes to me. "Is that the same Plum as the bonds guy?"

"Yes, ma'am." Crap. I'd been made.

"Smart of you to become a marshal instead of a bounty hunter," Karen commented.

"She's not smart and she's no marshal," Joyce snapped. "Her badge is a fake!"

Karen smiled pleasantly at Joyce. "Show me your badge, Plum."

I unclipped Tim's badge and handed it to her.

"This is real," Karen said, waving it under Joyce's nose. "And now that we've established who the marshals in the room are -"

"We haven't established jack," Joyce cut her off. "I know the jerk with the cowboy hat but I have no idea who you are."

"We met when she was bounty huntin' illegally in Kentucky," Givens put in. I could see he was starting to warm to the idea of introducing Karen to Joyce.

Karen inhaled, held it, and exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, Joyce. You're right. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Assistant Director Karen Goodall."

Ohmigod! Did she really think Joyce gave a crap about her title? I hoped somebody was recording this. Tim would get me a copy if I asked and I'd watch it whenever I needed to be cheered up.

"What's that? Like a secretary to the real director?" Joyce asked snottily.

"You hardly work for a living, so I wouldn't expect you to understand about rank," Karen said. I guessed somebody ran a quick background check and discovered Joyce made her money cleaning out ex-husbands.

"If you saw the men I had to marry for my money, you'd call it work, sister. And I know all about rank." Joyce shot a mean look at Karen. "I'm a taxpayer whose taxes pay your measly little government salary so you can buy your secondhand Chanel two sizes too small. My Chanel is this season's so you can kiss my ass because I outrank you."

"Couldn't you have just spit in her coffee?" Givens murmured in my ear.

I smiled at him and watched him cringe as he realized I did that too. The last time we worked together, Givens taught me to exploit weaknesses by not being afraid to go for the kill. I wondered if he was sorry about that now.

"I can hold you for seventy two hours without charging you," Karen said, calmly.

"And I can call my lawyer." Joyce smirked at me. "Stephanie knows him, too. He's her ex-husband. Dickie Orr is lousy in the sack but he's a great lawyer."

My blood started to boil and Givens grabbed my shoulder, squeezing hard to remind me not to say anything.

Karen, on the other hand, hated me almost as much as Joyce so she raised an eyebrow in my direction. "I didn't realize you knew Joyce."

"She's a fungus." The words popped out of my mouth before Givens clamped down on my shoulder. "Owwww! Cut that out!"

"Raylan," Karen said in a saccharine tone, "Can you save your foreplay for when you're not on duty?"

Joyce and I sucked in air.

Givens' eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

"Ohmigod! Does Morelli know you're doing Hat Man?" Joyce wanted to know. "I bet he dumps you for Terry Gilman when he finds out."

Great. Just great. Joyce Barnhardt loved to spread rumors about me. She'd been doing it since second grade and now, with the invention of the internet, was probably even better at spreading misinformation than the CIA or Perez Hilton.

Karen's eyes narrowed at me and I remembered that Morelli was on the task force too. Probably, she also knew who Terry Gilman was. From the look on her face, I'd just gone from annoying junior marshal who was sleeping with the object of her affection to a huge pain in the ass who was in the middle of her investigation and totally screwing it up. I was suddenly grateful that I wasn't really a marshal.

"Fletcher Nix," Karen said sharply, trying to reestablish control. "Where did you meet him, Joyce?"

"Ask Stephanie," Joyce shot back.

Karen leaned forward. "I'm asking you."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "If you're going to wear a low cut blouse like that, you need bigger boobs. Oh wait, I guess you can't afford them. Well, there's still Kleenex, like Stephanie uses."

Watching Karen's reaction was the only thing that kept me from jumping over the table and smacking Joyce. The big shot Assistant Director was having trouble interrogating a big-haired Jersey bimbo. It was priceless.

"Did you know you can be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive?" Karen asked. "Even if you only slept with him for one night, it counts."

"I'm sure there's a prosecutor out there who'd love to bring that case to trial," Joyce snorted. "I bet all the more qualified men who were up for your job hate your guts. Unless you screwed them too on your way up the ladder."

"If you tell me about Fletcher Nix, you'll be free to go," Karen tried again.

"Am I under arrest?" Joyce countered. "If not, I'm free to go right now." She stood up and flipped off Karen. "I'm not helping you marshals, not after what this doofus did to me in Kentucky. Screw all of you."

With that, Joyce shoved past Karen and stomped out of the conference room.

Karen stood there, looking stunned. Then she recovered and her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched in fury. "If you had background on her, it might have helped to share it, Raylan," she hissed at him.

"If your team ran a background check, they'd have found her arrest for bounty huntin' without a license and my report," Givens shrugged and nodded towards the stack of folders in front of Karen. "Looks like it's probably in there somewhere."

Since there was nothing else she could say to Givens without wrecking any further chances of getting him into her bed, Karen directed her wrath at me. "I'm writing you up for this, Plum, and you're going to be reassigned to the shittiest detail in the shittiest location I can find for you."

I rolled my eyes.

"Get her out of here. Now!" Karen snapped at Givens. "I don't want to see her anywhere near this investigation."

Givens flashed her an insincere smile. "Yes, ma'am."

He grabbed my arm and hustled me down the stairs without bothering to wait for the elevator. When we were outside in the parking lot, he emitted a long-suffering sigh. "I can't decide whether to be pissed off or impressed."

Just like all the other men in my life.


	18. Raylan Gets the Eye

Chapter 18

(Raylan's POV)

Morelli was waiting in Stephanie's parking lot when I pulled into the open spot next to the Dumpster. He was at least five hours past five o'clock shadow and he looked exhausted as we walked over to him. Morelli stood hands on hips and shook his head at us. "You're a menace."

"It wasn't -" Stephanie began.

"Not you, cupcake. Him." Morelli nodded in my direction. "What were you thinking, taking her to a crime scene and making her impersonate a marshal? And don't give me that Section 39(b) line of bull because we all know there is no Section 39(b)."

This wasn't about whether or not Section 39(b) existed. This was a male version of a jealous hissy fit and I'd had enough of those for one day.

Apparently, Stephanie had enough too. She rolled her eyes and started to head into the building. Both of us caught up to her before she could go in alone.

"It's four in the morning," she told us. "Even the ice picks are sleeping."

Of course we both ignored this and followed her silently into the elevator. Morelli continued to glare at me and I continued to ignore him. Stephanie continued to roll her eyes at both of us. It was a good thing all her neighbors were sleeping or they might have gotten caught in the silent crossfire.

Morelli held his tongue until we were inside Stephanie's apartment and made sure it was secure. Then he hit me with both barrels. "It's not enough that I have Ranger to worry about? Now I've got some guy who looks like he stepped out of a Clint Eastwood movie making moves on Stephanie. What would your pregnant ex-wife say about that?"

I shook my head. "It's not what you think. I had to make it look good for Karen. She's hard to impress."

"Evidently not."

Stephanie went into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.

For the first time all night, Karen's fancy hotel room held some appeal. "Morelli -"

He cut me off with a snort. "I'd love to see how long you can put up with the dead bodies, the revolving door of maniacs that break into her apartment, the things that happen to her cars and her grandmother. I bet you wouldn't last a week."

"How much you feel like wagerin'?" I asked with a smile. Frankly, Stephanie's life didn't sound so different than mine, except for the exploding cars. I had a long list of people who wanted to see me dead, so I guessed we were about even when it came to lifestyle. I was pretty sure we'd get on just fine.

Morelli's jaw clenched. "You're a lunatic! Just like her! You deserve each other!"

"Don't worry, while I do like a challenge, I ain't gonna steal your woman." I ran a hand through my hair and eyed my poor battered hat on Steph's coffee table. "I got enough woman problems without adding a long-distance relationship to the mix."

"Seems like you've got a long-distance relationship going on right now." Morelli said. "Isn't it about time for you to get back to Kentucky?"

I thought of Winona's one-word responses on the phone when I'd called her earlier. "It's crossed my mind. Thing is, while you may feel like I've overstayed my welcome, I've only been here a little over a day and my fugitive is still in the wind. In other words," I gave him the look that said I meant business, "I ain't goin' anywhere."

Morelli flashed me his own feral smile and it made the thin scar over his right eyebrow seem slightly menacing. "Neither am I." He turned on his heel and headed for Stephanie's bedroom. "I hope you brought earplugs. She can be loud."

I borrowed a page from Stephanie's book and rolled my eyes.

"And for the record, you could try but you'd never be able to steal her. I'm a Morelli." With that, he shut the bedroom door.

Maybe he was a Morelli, but I was a Givens. Stealing women was the least of the crimes my kin committed over the years.

I went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, twisted the cap off and threw it on the counter. Keeping the door open I peered in at my grocery shopping efforts and wondered if Winona would be impressed. Probably not. She was harder to impress than Karen. My stomach growled, reminding me of the reason I'd come in here in the first place, besides the fact that it put one more wall between me and the bedroom where Stephanie and Morelli were...well...whatever they were doing. Sleeping was what we all should have been doing.

I pulled two slices of bread out and spread them with peanut butter and marshmallow Fluff, took a bite, then a swallow of beer. It was a disgusting combination, and exactly what I needed. I flopped on the couch opened Nix' file and started to read.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a little after six when Morelli swaggered out of Stephanie's bedroom and slipped out of her apartment. The soft buzzing of his cell phone told me he was going straight to another crime scene or a briefing. No rest for Trenton cops, it seemed and one of the many reasons I preferred to be a marshal. As for the swagger, I wasn't fooled. The man snored like a lumberjack. At least, I hoped it was him and not Stephanie.

Stephanie poked her head out of her bedroom, so I closed my eyes and let her think I was asleep. She made her way to the kitchen, grabbed a box of Pop Tarts and started munching on one. Then she dropped a couple of pieces into the hamsters' tank. "I know you're awake."

"If I'm awake, we're goin' running and then to the range," I told her. I hated going running and I knew she hated it more than I did. It seemed like a pretty smart plan to get a few more hours of sleep. As Winona cheerfully pointed out, I wasn't getting any younger and while I could manage on two hours of sleep, four or five were preferable.

The door to Stephanie's bedroom closed softly and I tried to go back to sleep.

_My_ cell phone buzzed twenty minutes later. Karen Goodall. So much for the whole 'being a marshal is better' thing. I stared at it for a minute then punched the 'ignore' button. I wasn't here on her dime. Let her go ahead and call Art to complain that I wasn't busy helpin' her solve her case. I'd liked to have eavesdropped on _that_ conversation. It would probably have made my day.

Oh shit.

What if that wasn't what she was calling about?

What if she was so pissed off that she followed through on her threat to reassign Stephanie and found out there was no Stephanie Plum in the Marshals Service?

"Shit!" So much for sleeping late.

I sat up, ran a hand through my hair and called her back.

"Good morning, Raylan." Karen's voice was extra cheerful. "The morning briefing is at eight. Tell Plum she needs to bring twelve coffees and doughnuts."

She knew and she knew that I knew that she knew. And it was too early for this shit. "Karen -"

"Make sure she knows I like the ones with the colored sprinkles." She hung up.

The sun was barely up and I already hated the day.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The Tasty Pastry shop was filled with all kinds of delicious looking baked goods. There were cannolis, petit fours, and cookies of every description. Stephanie exchanged pleasantries with Loretta Karchinski who informed me that she used to worked at a bank that went under before peddling pastries. They chitchatted for a few minutes while Stephanie carefully selected the dozen doughnuts plus two that she probably intended to eat in the car on the way to the briefing.

Loretta's eyes went wide. "Oh no. Not again! Quick! Out the back!"

I started to reach for my money but Loretta shook her head.

"No time! She's almost here!"

My hand dropped to my gun and I turned to see a tiny, shriveled old lady dressed from head to toe in black approaching the bakery. She looked like an extra from every Mafia movie ever made and her dark eyes were fixed on Stephanie as she came through the door.

Stephanie and Loretta both made the sign of the cross.

The old woman approached me, folded her bony arms across her chest and glared up at me. Her bushy grey eyebrows knitted together as we locked stares. Having shot a woman once before, I was pretty sure I could do it again if the old lady pulled a sawed-off shotgun from her massive black purse.

"You," she spat, finally, her Italian-accented voice laden with contempt.

"Ma'am?"

"Fake manners." She dismissed me with a wave. "You are a sneak. You and that one." She jabbed a bony finger in Stephanie's direction and Stephanie cringed. "You sneak around with the harlot and you break my poor Joseph's heart."

"You're Morelli's granny?" I started to laugh and both Stephanie and Loretta went pale. "Morelli sicced his granny on me?"

"You think this funny?" The old lady smacked me in the arm with her purse and it felt like she not only had a sawed-off in there but a Sherman tank, too. "I put the eye on you. How funny it gonna be when your hair and teeth fall out? You think it gonna be funny when your man parts don't work?"

Loretta and Stephanie emitted squeaks of fear.

"Lady, I'm from Harlan County," I told her, letting my accent out full bore and channeling my inner Aunt Helen, "we got shit that makes the eye look like a kid's game."

"Blasphemer," Joe's granny spat. "You gonna believe. You got the eye on you now." Then she shoved past me to the counter. "I need a coffee cake."

Loretta nodded, eyes wide.

"How much do I -"

"Just go," Loretta hissed.

Stephanie grabbed the doughnuts and my arm, tugging me through the door and across the street to the car with surprising strength. Her blue eyes were round as she stared open-mouthed at me.

"Cut it out," I said. "She's a crazy old lady and Joe's losin' his status as a man for siccin' her on me."

"That was Joe's Grandma Bella," Stephanie told me, pulling out a Boston Creme doughnut and biting into it. "The eye thing might be true. She gave me the eye one time and I got a planet-sized pimple that wouldn't go away."

"You ever think the pimple was from the enormous amount of shit you eat?" I asked, fighting to keep the annoyance out of my voice. This superstitious bullshit was the last thing I needed today.

She shook her head. "Grandma Bella put the eye on Carmine Scallari and his man parts stopped working after that."

"Who the hell is Carmine Scallari?"

"A retired mobster. Lives over in Ewing."

I blew out a breath and started the car. "Let me see if I'm followin' you. Some old geezer can't get it up anymore and it's because of Morelli's granny. That about right?"

"She also has visions," Stephanie mumbled and edged away from me in her seat, like she thought this eye bullshit might be contagious.

"Junior Marshal Plum, there ain't any such thing as the eye." I stopped for a light. "You're welcome to test my man parts for yourself if it'll settle your mind. I'm sure Winona would appreciate you makin' sure I was fully functional after gettin' hit with the eye."

Stephanie sucked in air and crossed herself. "I'm in enough trouble over your man parts."

That much was true.

And it wasn't even eight in the morning yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We were the last ones to arrive for the meeting and there were no seats left in the conference room. I recognized the three marshals from the Barroni crime scene and saw Morelli seated next to another plain clothes Trenton cop. They both shot me looks as I walked in behind Stephanie.

I set the trays of coffee down and Stephanie put the doughnuts on the table. She glanced up at me and then back at Morelli, who didn't look happy to see her at the briefing wearing her borrowed badge.

Karen came in with a stack of folders, shoving them into Stephanie's arms. "We need a set of these for everyone, Plum."

"Yes, ma'am." The expression on Stephanie's face was murderous as she met my eyes and if I had to hazard a guess, she was probably blaming her copying assignment on Grandma Bella's eye.

I patted her arm reassuringly as she left the conference room in search of the copier and realized Karen and Morelli both noticed the gesture. Yeah, today was going to be one for the books.

Karen popped open the box of doughnuts and took the one with the sprinkles as she launched into what her lackeys dug up on Carla Barroni. I tuned out most of it, having learned all of it before my own interview with Carla, and entertained myself by engaging in a staring contest with Morelli. It was his own fault Stephanie was free game. His quit-bounty-huntin' proposals were never gonna work, much the way I'd never quit the marshals to sell ice cream.

"Raylan?" Karen was looking at me expectantly.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Shit. Everyone was staring at me and I had no clue what we were covering. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Morelli smirking.

"I asked whether your interview with Carla yielded any additional insight."

I quickly recited what Stephanie and I learned about the menopausal Oxy connection and Carla's trysts with Bucky Seidler, Jimmy Bravo and Fletcher Nix. When I finished, the entire room was gaping at me. Apparently, they didn't know any of this. Score one for Stephanie's gossipy friends and zero for Karen's task force.

"Morelli." Karen smiled at him. "Can Trenton PD canvass the local OB/GYNs and find out who might be prescribing Oxy legitimately?"

Morelli returned the smile. "It might be easier for Marshal Plum and Marshal Givens to make those inquires."

"Plum and I are lookin' for Fletcher Nix," I protested, "not crooked doctors. Our investigation isn't part of this task force."

"Actually, it is," Karen told me. "Effective this morning."

My man parts were starting to feel a little smaller. Maybe there was something to that eye stuff after all.

Karen continued, "Since we think there's a possible connection between Nix and our guy I pulled some strings and got you both reassigned." She looked me right in the eyes when she said the word 'both'. "Chief Deputy Mullen was very gracious about it."

I stared at the table. When I looked up, Morelli was once again staring daggers at me. I wondered how much trouble I might have gotten myself and Stephanie into, and what the hell I was going to have to do to get us out of it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"She what?" Stephanie's left eye started to twitch and she clapped a hand over it.

"Shhh," I hissed.

Just then, the copier jammed and judging from Stephanie's reaction, it wasn't the first time that morning. Her white blouse had toner smears on it and there was toner on her hands and the tip of her nose. She started kicking the copy machine with enough force to put a dent in the side and send the heel of her shoe flying across the office.

The copier coughed once and started copying again.

Stephanie blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and scowled at me. "How can Art reassign me if I don't work for him?"

"_I_ work for him," I reminded her. "Probably his way of teachin' me a lesson."

"Do I get paid?" she asked hopefully.

Having seen how hard she kicked the copy machine and been punched by her yesterday, I didn't want to say no. Especially since she believed in the curse on my man parts enough to give me a good swift kick right there. "I'll check with Art."

"How are those copies coming, Plum?" Karen asked, coming up behind us, holding the heel of Stephanie's shoe.

"Almost done, ma'am," Stephanie lied.

Karen picked up three folders and handed them to me. "There's another copier down the hall, Raylan. Help Plum."

Stephanie pointed to her eye and shook her head ruefully.

I would have rolled my eyes but Karen was watching. "Sure thing, Assistant Director Goodall, ma'am."

We were going to find Nix today if it killed me, the entire task force and Joe's granny.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The copier was whirring away and I punched Art's number into my cell phone, bracing myself for the lecture I was about to endure. There was no doubt in my mind he'd scold me for letting Stephanie impersonate a marshal and parading her in front of an assistant director. The real question was how much of a scolding I was in for.

"Raylan. How's the task force?" Art greeted me with a suspicious amount of enthusiasm.

Shit. "It's good, Art. Listen -"

"I heard Plum made quite an impression yesterday." I could almost see Art's 'what the hell have you done now' face.

"Art, I -"

"You're her supervisor, Raylan. I expect you to make sure she stays out of trouble and is a positive reflection of this office. Got me?"

So that was how he wanted it. "Sure, Art. Thanks."

Art chuckled on the other end of the line. "You're welcome, Raylan."

"Well, shit," I muttered, hanging up.

Damn eye.


	19. How to Apply Pressure

Chapter 19 - How to Apply Pressure 

Givens paced the apartment while I changed out of my skirt suit and into an outfit that mirrored his - flannel shirt over a tight v-neck T-shirt, jeans and CAT boots. He cleared his throat as I reached for my web belt and bounty hunter supplies.

"You can bring those, but you have to wear the badge and gun," he told me.

"I'm not a marshal!" I backed away from the holster he was holding. "And isn't Tim going to need his badge back when he gets out of the hospital today?"

Givens smiled tightly. "Work with me here, Junior -"

"I've worked my way right into an unpaid crap job," I countered. "All because you were too chicken to tell Assistant Director Bitchzilla you weren't interested. If you told her you were going to be a baby-daddy she would have run for the hills. There's no way she wants anything to do with kids!"

"I was tryin' to include you in the investigation," Givens said, rearranging his face into a hurt expression. "Just like we did back in Kentucky."

I could feel my anger start to dissolve. He did include me in his investigation when I was in Kentucky and he kept me safe. And there was more food in my fridge than I'd ever seen. As long as I didn't think about the kiss... "But I don't know anything about being a marshal."

"Sure you do," he said, laying a hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. "Just follow my lead and you'll be okay. You can do this."

I wanted to believe him but I'd already been given massive amounts of photocopying and been assigned to fetch coffee.

"I got us out of interviewing the local OB/GYNs," Givens added. "Morelli got stuck with that. We get to keep followin' leads on Nix."

Usually, I had no idea what Morelli did all day and now that I knew what his assignment was and that Givens got him stuck with it, I was sure it was going to come back to bite me. "What leads?"

"Vito Grizzoli." Givens picked up his hat. "We'll go apply some pressure -"

"Whoa! I can't apply pressure to Vito Grizzoli! I'm not a marshal and he knows I'm not a marshal!"

"Section 39(b) -"

My left eye twitched. "There is no Section 39(b)!"

"Would I lie to you?" Givens asked, giving me puppy dog eyes.

Of course he would. He lied to Karen and told her I was a marshal.

"Would I let anything happen to you?" he added.

"You left me alone and that ice pick guy tried to kill me," I huffed.

"You let him get away." Givens laid both hands on my shoulders now and dipped his head so we were eye level. "He's not gettin' away again and you're gonna be the one who brings him in. Just like a real marshal."

"But I'm _not_ a real marshal."

"Karen thinks you are and Art agrees with her. You wanna tell both of 'em they're wrong?"

"Because you _lied_!" My eye twitched again and I clapped a hand over it. This was going nowhere. As long as Givens was in town, I was stuck being a phony marshal, which meant Karen got to torture me and I wasn't even getting paid. I blew out a breath. "Fine. I'll be a marshal but you're going to be a bounty hunter. You're going to bring in as many of Vinnie's skips as it takes to equal what my salary as a marshal would be."

Givens blinked. "Does he have that many skips?"

"If he doesn't, you can freelance yourself to Les Sebring." So there.

"Shit," Givens muttered. "You women are killin' me."

"It's the eye," I told him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As we drove over to Vito Grizzoli's dry cleaner, I explained what I knew about Grizzoli and the mob presence in Trenton. Jersey City was the nerve center and it was connected to New York, Chicago and other key mob hubs. Trenton was middle management. The FBI passed through Trenton when building their RICO cases but they rarely stayed for an extended visit.

Vito Grizzoli was Trenton's connection to Jersey City. He ran a bookmaking operation in the back of the dry cleaner and his daughter, Terry Gilman, née Grizzoli, started off in collections for him. Terry, it was rumored, was on the fast track to replace Vito when he retired.

Givens listened intently and asked a lot of questions I couldn't answer about how middle management worked in Trenton.

"My father worked for the post office," I told him. "If you want someone with connections and gossip, you should talk to Connie. She's related to half the mob in Trenton."

"Morelli gave me some background last night," Givens explained, "but your sources have a different perspective." He grinned wickedly. "I never woulda thought gossip was a useful investigative tool 'till I came here."

"You don't know much, do you?"

"Apparently not." He found a spot up the block from Crystal Cleaners and sat for a couple of minutes, watching. "Tell me about the dry cleaner."

I shrugged. "They never lose buttons."

He blew out a sigh. "Look at the building. A real dry cleaner would have that chemical smell and steam coming out a vent somewhere. This one ships the clothes elsewhere to be cleaned. All that space in the back is his bookmaking operation. Come on, Junior Marshal Plum. Let's get a better look."

I wanted to wait in the car but I knew he'd never let me. The thing was, I'd managed to mostly stay off the Trenton mob's radar. Ranger was the only who handled the skips who were connected. I got the retirees and the wanna-bes and I preferred it that way. It was safer.

Givens' plan to apply pressure scared the crap out of me and I didn't even know exactly what kind of pressure he was going to apply.

He angled out of the car, started to put the hat on, stopped and blew out a sigh. "This poor thing took a real beatin' since we got here."

"We'll get even with Joyce," I promised him.

"That goes without sayin'." His shoulders straightened and it was like he transformed from the poor put-upon slob of a second ago to a keen-eyed cop. "Stay behind me and let me do the talking."

I had no problem with that plan. I planned on trying to make myself invisible.

Vito was at the counter, sipping a Starbucks coffee and reading the Star-Ledger. He was dressed in mob casual, which was today was a Lacoste polo shirt and jeans. To Vito's right was a young guy with a nose that dominated his face and gave him a cross-eyed appearance because his eyes were set too closely together.

A few garments in plastic bags hung on the rack behind Vito but to my knowledge, nobody ever had their clothes cleaned here. For all I knew, those plastic wrapped clothes had been hanging for decades.

Vito looked up at us and took his reading glasses off, smiling at Givens. "The cowboy marshal..." He snapped his fingers and looked at the young guy. "What's the name?"

"Givens," the guy supplied. "Raylan. Based in Lexington, Kentucky. Age 40, divorced, no kids. Mother, deceased. Eighteen years in the Marshals Service. Awards for marksmanship and valor. Best known for the execution of Tommy Bucks in Miami."

Vito raised a well-tended gray eyebrow at Givens. "Not a bad resume." He leaned to his left, met my eyes and smiled wider. "Stephanie Plum, wearing a Marshal's star." Shaking a finger at me, Vito winked. "That's a fib, cutie pie. You're a bounty hunter for your cousin, Vinnie."

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

"Does Joseph know you're playing cops and robbers with the cowboy?" Vito asked me.

I cut my eyes to Givens. He said he wanted to do all the talking but so far, he hadn't said a word.

Vito followed my gaze and addressed Givens. "Joseph used to date my Teresa when they were in high school. Everybody thought they were gonna get married. Surprised the hell outta everyone when they broke up and he joined the Navy. He was a hell-raiser, that boy. I never woulda guessed he'd become a cop." Pausing for a sip of coffee, Vito returned his attention to me. "Now you, everybody knows about you, Stephanie. You took out Jimmy Alpha and had a hand in whacking Benito Ramirez. You burned down Stiva's and you've destroyed more cars than a demolition derby. I could go on, but I'm thinking you and your boyfriend here don't have all day to hear about all the naughty things you've done. So, Marshal Raylan Givens, lately of Kentucky, what brings you to my humble business?"

Givens held out his hat. "I need this dry cleaned. Seems a lady felt the need to express her displeasure by stepping on it."

Vito took the hat, inspected it and shook his head. "You don't wanna dry clean this. The chemicals'd discolor the fabric. What you wanna do is this." He reached under the counter.

My heart jumped into my throat.

Givens' hand tightened on the grip of his gun.

The cross-eyed kid fiddled with something in his lap that I knew was a weapon.

Vito pulled out a fabric brush and scrubbed at the hat. "There. You see? Sometimes the old ways work best." He held out the hat to Givens, showing him the footprint was gone. "No charge."

Givens flashed his own smile at Vito and set the hat on his head. "Much obliged, Mister Grizzoli. I'd recite your resume but I think it might be more interestin' if I told you your future."

Vito nudged the young guy. "Check it out He's gonna tell me my future."

"I see a trip west," Givens said, still smiling. "A long vacation to Allenwood, for, oh say, twenty-five to life for the murders of Rico Caravelli, Ken Azzariti and Carla Barroni, plus whatever else we can tack on for trafficking in Oxy. Sad to say, the coffee in Allenwood isn't Starbucks but I suppose it'll do while you're serving life."

Ohmigod. Was this what Givens meant by applying pressure? Spots danced in front of my eyes and I was fighting to not start hyperventilating.

Vito clucked and shook his head in disbelief. "I'm a dry cleaner, Marshal. I've been a dry cleaner for over forty years."

"I'm sure that'll come in handy when they assign you to the prison laundry," Givens told him. His gaze went hard and deadly as he reached over the counter and yanked a sawed-off shotgun from the cross-eyed kid's hands. "In the meantime, you might want to surround yourself with more effective security." With that, he rammed the stock of the gun into the kid's face and I heard the sickening crunch of the kid's nose. "Maybe that'll teach you about stickin' that big nose in people's business."

I sucked in air and was barely aware of Givens grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the cleaners. I could hear him talking to me but I had no idea what he was saying.

And then I threw up.


	20. Fakin' It

Chapter 20 – Fakin' It

"You broke his nose!" These were my first words in nearly fifteen minutes. My first ten minutes were spent getting the nausea and dizziness under control and the next five were me trying to figure out what the hell just happened. We were parked on Hamilton, across the street from the bonds office and I saw Connie watching us from her desk.

Givens turned to me and nodded. "I did."

"I thought you said you were going to apply pressure!"

"You think that won't work? Wanna go back and try somethin' else?" he asked.

"No!" Unh! Mental head slap. Then I realized he was joking. "It's not funny! I have to live here and now Vito knows who I am!"

"Seems like he already knew," Givens shrugged.

"You broke that guy's nose!"

"You puked." He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm startin' to wonder if you're cut out to be a marshal, Plum."

"I puked because you broke his nose with a sawed-off shotgun!"

Givens gave me an innocent look. "You're kinda obsessed with that guy's nose, aren't you?"

My mouth opened and I made some sounds that weren't exactly words. Then I closed my mouth, got out of the Town Car and stomped into the bonds office. Connie took one look at my face, reached into her desk and pulled out a hotel mini bar sized bottle of scotch and handed it to me.

I unscrewed the cap and took a drink.

"That must have been some visit to Vito Grizzoli," Connie said.

I blinked. "How'd you find out so fast?"

"My cousin Angie is dating Dion DiLorenzo."

"Who?"

"The kid with the busted nose. He called Angie, told her what happened and she called me," Connie explained.

I took another drink while I calculated the speed of gossip in the Burg. My mother would be calling in the next ten minutes, if not sooner, followed by Morelli who wasn't going to be happy.

Givens strolled in and tipped his hat to Connie, then he raised an eyebrow at me. "The Marshals Service frowns on drinkin' on the job, Plum. What are you gonna say if Karen catches you?"

"I'll tell her you broke Dion DiLorenzo's nose."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Dion? You makin' that up or is that really his name?"

"My cousin Angie is going out with him," Connie explained. "Vito is pissed at you."

Givens gave her an aw-shucks grin.

The door to Vinnie's office banged open and he stuck his head out, narrowing his eyes at the badge on my belt. "Holy shit! It's true! Some idiot gave her a badge!"

I cut my eyes to the idiot. "It's temporary. In the meantime, we were hoping to pick up some extra cases -"

"Absolutely not. No moonlighting cops. Ever. I got enough problems. Come back when you're not a marshal anymore," Vinnie said. "Barnhardt'll take your active files."

I hit Givens with my death glare. Not only was my life in danger, I wasn't getting paid until he went back to Kentucky and now Joyce was getting my cases. There was a little over half of tiny the bottle of scotch left. Since my day was a total loss already and it wasn't even noon, I finished off the bottle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Maybe you should eat something," Givens said, as he buckled my seatbelt after I spent two minutes fumbling with it. "And maybe drink some coffee."

I rolled my eyes at him and burped.

"I'm sure I can find a diner around here somewhere." He cut his eyes to me and shook his head. "Since you're unemployed -"

"Your fault," I slurred.

"It'll be my treat."

"I want pancakes," I told him. "A _huge _stack. With chocolate chips. And maybe some more scotch."

"No more scotch for you," he chided. "We're tryin' to sober you up, remember?"

"You're a crummy fake boyfriend."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm in this mess because you're a big fat chicken who'd rather pretend we're doing the deed than tell Karen you don't like her." I could hear the words coming out of my mouth and I couldn't stop them. "That makes you my fake boyfriend and a good fake boyfriend would try to get me drunk so we could have pretend sex."

"No more scotch for you," Givens muttered. "Ever."

My cell phone rang and Givens grabbed for it but I switched hands and answered the call. "'Lo?"

"Jesus Christ, you're drunk," Morelli said. "Why are you drunk at ten in the morning?"

"Rrrrrrrrraylan got me drunk," I told him, rolling the 'r' in Givens' name for extra effect. "Are you naked? Wanna have phone sex?"

Givens snatched the phone from me and ended the call. "Maybe I should just take you home and let you sleep it off."

I burped again and it was a dangerous sound.

The car lurched to a halt, Givens undid my seatbelt, reached across and flung open my door just in time for me to barf.

"You sure do throw up a lot," he commented.

The good news was that I wasn't drunk anymore but the bad news was I had the beginning of a nasty hangover. There was only one thing that cured a hangover. I straightened up and narrowed my eyes at Givens. "Take me to McDonalds. _Now!_"

He smirked. "What about the chocolate chip pancakes and the pretend sex?"

The sound of his voice vibrated in my head and threatened to make it explode. "Shut up and drive. And you're still paying."

My cell phone rang again but it was in Givens' shirt pocket. I waited for him to hand it to me but he seemed determined to ignore the call.

"I need directions."

"Just go straight." The phone beeped, indicating I had a message. And then it rang again. I would have known who was calling if I bothered to assign ring tones but it always seemed like too much work. "Are you going to give me my phone?"

"No. You'll get it back when you're sober and calm." He grinned at me. "That could be a while."

The phone was right there and Givens was busy watching the road. All I had to do was reach over and grab it...

Givens plucked the phone from his shirt pocket as he stopped for a light, shifted in his seat and stuffed the phone into his jeans pocket. "You're disappointin' me something fierce today."

"I'm the one who didn't get any pretend orgasms," I shot back. Then I realized what I said and buried my face in my hand. It was the eye. The eye was contagious.

Morelli was parked in the McDonald's parking lot and he was leaning against his dented cop car, watching as Givens pulled in next to him. He didn't look happy but he was holding a bag that I was sure held French fries and a Coke.

I stumbled out of the car, nearly blinded by the bright sun.

"You look terrible," Morelli said, handing me the bag. "I bought you The Cure."

"It's the eye," I told him, squirting ketchup onto the fries. "Grandma Bella gave Givens the eye and its contagious."

"There's no such thing as the eye," Givens and Morelli said. Then they glared at each other.

Morelli blew out a sigh and turned to me. "I heard about your visit to Vito Grizzoli and I want you to be careful. He's not behind bars because all the witnesses either recant or disappear. DiLorenzo is new mob, which means he's got an MBA from Rutgers and has more book smarts than street smarts. That's the type that won't come at you directly but would hire someone else to do it."

"Tim and I are lookin' after her," Givens said, snatching one of my fries.

"Tim is in the hospital and you got her drunk," Morelli exploded. "After you threatened Grizzoli and broke DiLorenzo's nose." Then he smiled. "Karen isn't going to be happy with your antics. Think she'll make you stay after school to clap her erasers?"

Ohmigod. I ate more fries.

"Karen's done a lot worse than bust some wanna-be wise guy's nose," Givens told him. "You folks sure are obsessed with Dion's nose. Granted, it was an impressively sized one but it wasn't like it belonged in any of the record books." Just then, Givens' cell phone rang. He studied the screen for a moment and then answered it. "Where are you? Okay, we're on our way."

I slurped my Coke and turned to Morelli. "Can you call my mother and tell her I'm okay?"

"Why can't you call her?"

"Givens took my phone."

Morelli exhaled, pinched the bridge of his nose and then stared hard at Givens. "Give Stephanie her phone, Raylan."

"I didn't want her drunk dialing anybody," he said, handing me the phone. "She was ravin' about phone sex and fake orgasms. It was kinda scary."

"I wasn't raving!" I protested.

"Since when do you fake orgasms?" Morelli asked me. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to me. "I know you never faked orgasms with me. You weren't having fake orgasms with Raylan, were you?"

"No!"

"Just checking." He kissed my forehead. "If he gives you any more _agita_, call me and I'll send Grandma Bella to take care of him."

Givens sighed, shook his head and watched Morelli pull out of the parking lot. "He's a real buzz kill, isn't he?"

Why me?


	21. May the Task Force Be With You

Chapter 21 – May the Task Force Be With You

I had a bunch of messages on my phone. Two were from my mother, one from Grandma Mazur and four from Lula asking me to call her. Before I could call her back, Givens told me that the call he answered was from Tim and we were picking him up at Lula's apartment. That explained the messages from Lula, sort of. Usually she would have left just one. Four seemed excessive, even for her.

Lula lived in a closet-sized apartment on Hancock Street, where the buildings were run down but they weren't crack dens. Most of her neighbors worked several minimum wage jobs to make ends meet, unlike her neighbors a few blocks away. Those neighbors dealt drugs, sold their bodies and did all sorts of things that made me queasy to think about.

Givens parked the Town Car and looked up at Lula's four story building. "I'm sure Tim is practicing his sniper skills and blending in with his surroundings."

Considering the fact this was a mostly black neighborhood, that would have been quite a feat. I led Givens inside and we walked up the two flights to Lula's apartment.

She threw open the door before I could knock and she had a guilty look on her face. Tim was sitting at her kitchen table, sipping a mug of coffee. There was something different about him and it took me a full minute to realize what it was. He was wearing a burnt orange polo shirt that was a lot tighter than his usual navy blue or black ones.

Givens mouth quirked. "Nice shirt, Gutterson."

Tim shot him a sarcastic looking smirk. "It's different from my usual color choice but this is Jersey. I could wear neon pink and still blend in."

That much was true.

"It's kinda tight, ain't it?" Givens asked. "Makes you look kinda like a -"

"Don't you criticize him," Lula interrupted, hitting Givens with a glare. "I bought him that shirt. You make fun of that shirt, you're insulting my taste and I know you don't want to insult my taste."

I sucked in air. Lula and Tim! Tim and Lula! It couldn't be! But it was. I knew that look on Lula's face.

"He's a closet badass," Lula whispered to me. "And he's got a body that's even better than Raylan's, 'cept he don't go around wearing no tight pants and showing off his ass to the world. I like subtlety in a man."

Lula didn't like subtlety in anything. I wasn't even sure she knew what it meant. Probably the safest thing to do was pretend it wasn't happening.

Tim cut his eyes to the badge on my belt. "You know that's my badge, right?"

"Stephanie's gonna borrow it for a while," Givens began.

"You mean while she works on the task force instead of me?" Tim cut him off. "Art called and told me all about it."

Givens smiled tightly. "That's right."

"This should be interesting," Tim smirked.

Lula turned to me, eyes narrowed and hands on hips. "Hunh. Guess I ain't good enough to be on the task force. Nice to know where I stand, Miss Fake Marshal."

My left eye started to twitch. "It's Raylan's fault I'm on the task force!"

Givens clamped a hand down on my shoulder before I could say anything about Karen. "You can be on Tim's task force, Lula."

Tim's eyebrows rose and he folded his arms over his chest like he couldn't wait to hear what else Givens had to say.

"I guess I don't mind that," Lula said.

"And what exactly is my task force working on?" Tim wanted to know.

"Someone told Fletcher Nix we were lookin' for him and sicced him on Stephanie," Givens said slowly. "Joyce Barnhardt knows something but she's not talking. You two shadow her and see what she knows."

"Joyce knows how to wreck lives." The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"She's pure evil," Lula added. "I say we skip the shadowing and beat the answers out of her."

Tim turned to Lula. "How about beating on Raylan for excluding us from the real task force?"

"There's a lot of cops on that task force," I told her.

"I don't do well in large groups," Lula said quickly. "Too much bureaucracy."

The truth was, Lula didn't do well around cops. She avoided them wherever possible because of her former profession as a ho. It was surprising that she liked the marshals. And that she liked Tim enough to - no! Don't think about that, Stephanie.

Givens smiled. "Then it's settled. We'll meet up at the apartment later and compare notes."

Great. My apartment was now Tim's task force headquarters. Maybe I'd stay with Morelli until the marshals were done here. And then I remembered the kiss. Morelli was probably still pissed off about that, the borrowed badge and Nix' attempt on my life. There was more he was probably pissed about but I decided not to dwell on it. Instead, I asked, "What are we doing while they shadow Joyce?"

"We're gonna find Vito's granddaughter."

"Are we going to apply more pressure?"

"It depends. My guess is Vito ain't gonna be too happy with us for talkin' to her," Givens told me.

I was starting to miss the good old days of rolling around in garbage and wrestling naked fugitives.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We pulled into the GM dealership lot and were immediately greeted by Lenny Buzick. Lenny is my grandmother's friend Louise's grandson and he sold me a couple of used cars from the dealership's used car lot since mine started getting destroyed. He's a few years older than me with the kind of shiny black hair that could only come from dye.

"Stephanie Plum. What can I show you today?" Lenny asked.

Givens flashed his identification. "I was hoping for a word with the repair manager."

Lenny pointed towards a large white building at the back of the lot. "The service department is that way." He eyed me with obvious disappointment. "Sure you're not in the market? I've got a Jeep with your name on it."

"It's early in the day," I told him. "I might be in the market later."

That earned me a smile from both men.

We made our way across the lot and when we walked into the service department, there was Dion DiLorenzo. He had a huge bandage over his huge nose and he glared at Givens as we walked in. Dion had a group of four friends with him, each one bigger than the next.

"Marshal," Dion said, his gaze cutting to me. "And Fake-Marshal Plum. We already gave our statement to the Trenton PD."

Givens raised an eyebrow. "We? I wasn't aware you had any involvement with this dealership, Dion."

"Guess you shoulda been doing your homework instead of boning Morelli's slutty girlfriend," Dion shrugged. "Not that I blame you. She looks like a really juicy Plum, the kind that tastes sweet and runs down your chin."

Dion's gang guffawed on cue and leered at me.

My eyes narrowed and I took a step forward, only to be yanked back by the collar of my shirt by Givens. His eyes were narrowed too and he was starting to look feral. I decided to head things off. "We're looking for Vito's granddaughter."

"Maybe you wanna look for her in my pants," Dion shot back.

Givens exhaled and it was a sound that held a lot of warning if you knew him. Dion and his crew didn't. I was pretty sure things were about to get really ugly. "The lady asked you a question."

"The lady ain't a cop."

"I am," Givens said, showing teeth.

"You got a warrant?" Dion was smirking now. "Otherwise, kiss my ass and get off the property. Juicy Plum over there can kiss this." He met my eyes and grabbed his crotch.

Yuck!

Givens exhaled again. "You know how many wise guys mouthed off like that to me over the years? Hundreds, I'd say and that's a low figure. Those that aren't in jail are six feet under. Put there by me."

"You threatening me?" Dion wanted to know.

"I'm tellin' you how it is."

I swallowed hard. Probably Morelli applied pressure just like Givens was doing. Probably, I was over-reacting. The only reason I never saw Ranger do this was because Ranger didn't have to apply pressure. Ranger _was_ pressure.

"Let me tell _you_ how it is." Dion got into Givens' face. "You're on the premises illegally and you're being recorded. You take a swing at me again and I won't hit back. I'll sue and I'll find every shitkicker you ever manhandled and make it a class action lawsuit. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be lucky to get a shitty bounty hunter gig like Juicy Plum over there. Now get the hell out before I file a complaint."

Givens snorted. "The Marshals love gettin' complaints from the bent-nose - 'scuse me - the _broke-_nose community. Lets us know we're doin' our jobs."

Neither one was backing down and I knew this wasn't going to end without fists flying. I hoped Givens wasn't planning on applying pressure anywhere else today because I wasn't sure my nerves could handle it.

"Job? All I see you doing is harassing local business people and their families. Is there a point you're trying to make, Raylan?" Dion put a mocking emphasis on Givens' name.

Givens smiled at him but there was no humor in it. It was the kind of smile a predator had before it ripped the head off of its prey. "I believe I made my point earlier today but I can make it again if you need clarification."

The next series of events happened so quickly that I didn't even realize they were happening until it was over and Dion was clutching his freshly re-broken and bleeding nose. Givens had his gun drawn before Dion's bodyguards could react. In the next heartbeat, their weapons were on the floor and their hands were in the air.

"Apologize to the lady," Givens ordered.

Dion made sounds that might have been an apology. Then again, maybe not.

Givens gripped my arm with his left hand and thrust me through the door ahead of him. He was silent until we were back inside his Town Car and pulling into traffic. "That went well."

Unh. Mental head slap. "We almost got killed."

"We did? When?"

"We _could _have been killed," I said.

Givens snorted. "By them? Are you kiddin'?"

"They had guns!" My left eye started to twitch.

"So did I," he reminded me. "And look what we learned."

I slumped in my seat. "We learned Vito owns the dealership."

"That's right. That'll give Karen's team something to research for their case. I'm sure there's a lot of dummy corporations to sift through to get to Vito." He glanced over at me. "We can assume the Oxy was bein' moved through the dealership and that Bravo might have been skimming the supply. We can also assume Nix is or was workin' for Vito. Now what we have to do is prove it and shut Vito down."

It sounded so easy when he said it but if it was so easy, why was there a task force? And why were my hands still shaking?


	22. Molotov Cocktails for Two

Chapter 22

"Happy Birthday Mary," Givens read aloud as I retrieved a cake knife from the kitchen drawer.

I insisted on stopping at Tasty Pastry on the way home where I bought an unclaimed birthday cake. We had a little over two hours before the evening task force meeting and I decided to fortify myself with birthday cake. Any day that involved breaking the same person's nose twice and was bookended with Karen Goodall required cake.

Cutting myself a generous slice with a red frosting rose, I took a bite and sighed with pleasure.

Givens took the knife and cut himself a slice that was even bigger than mine. When he caught me staring at him, he gave me an aw-shucks grin and shrugged. "Today was a bear and I'm not lookin' forward to the task force meeting."

"I can see how it would suck, having to listen to people who didn't go around beating on mobsters." Did I just say that? I shoveled a piece of cake into my mouth to prevent myself from saying anything else.

He raised his eyebrows. "You say that like you disapprove of my methods."

"Couldn't the case get thrown out because of it?" I asked.

"Only if Karen doesn't do her job," he shrugged, taking another forkful of cake.

That seemed like a pretty rotten attitude, causing havoc and letting everyone else clean up his messes. At least when I caused havoc, I helped clean it up. Or I tried to, anyway. Maybe that was why Tim wasn't exactly buddy-buddy with Givens.

I started to cut another slice, this one with a yellow frosting rose when there was the crash of bottles breaking, the screech of tires and the sound of an engine revving coming from the parking lot. Dropping my fork, I raced into my bedroom and peered out the window. Both my Xterra and Givens' Town Car were on fire.

Blowing out a sigh, I brushed past Givens and finished cutting my slice of cake.

He stood by the window, his jaw clenched and breathing heavily. "Give me another slice of that, would ya?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Morelli pulled in behind the fire trucks and stood watching the firemen hosing down the two cars. Ranger arrived a couple of minutes later and shook his head. Givens had his arm slung around my shoulders and he steered me towards them.

"You've had an eventful day," Morelli said, freeing me from Givens and pulling me to him for a kiss. "And you taste like birthday cake."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ranger nod at me and then slip away. I guessed he figured I was in good hands.

Just as I started to relax, Karen Goodall strode in to survey the scene. She stood there, hands on hips, staring at the burned wreckage of the two cars. Her gaze snapped to me and her eyes narrowed as she digested the image of Morelli holding me when I was supposed to be Givens' girlfriend.

I tore myself away from Morelli and threw myself into Givens' arms, ignoring the murderous look Morelli shot in our direction. Givens was no fool. He knew Karen was wondering what the hell was going on between Morelli, Givens and me so he pulled me close. I buried my face against his chest, discovering that Givens smelled really good. Masculine, with a hint of birthday cake. His fingers splayed across the small of my back, kneading gently and sending confusing signals to other parts of my body. I was glad Morelli couldn't see my face.

"Molotov cocktail," was his greeting to Karen.

"Cocktails for two," she countered.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from Givens and his birthday cake smell to face Karen.

Her lips were pressed in a thin, disapproving line as she took in our matching outfits. When she saw me earlier, I'd been in a skirt suit. Now I was dressed like a mini-Givens but with even tighter jeans and I was snuggling with him at a crime scene.

"It might be a few days before we can requisition you a car," Karen told him. "Maybe Morelli'll let you ride with him."

I heard Givens inhale, hold it and exhale so I guessed the delay on giving him a new car was her way of jerking his chain. With my Xterra gone and no source of income, I knew what we were going to have to do. We were going to have to drive around in Big Blue until Karen got bored of playing with Givens.

Big Blue belonged to my Great-Uncle Sandor and he left it to Grandma Mazur when he died. It's a 1953 Buick that's got a powder blue body with a white roof, whitewalls, porthole windows and shiny chrome bumpers. It handles like a refrigerator on wheels and doesn't have power steering. I hated the car with a passion but men loved it. It would be interesting to see what Givens thought of it.

"Piss anybody off today, Raylan?" Karen asked.

"We had a word with Vito Grizzoli," Givens said. "Pleasant fella. Got the shoe print off of my hat."

I stared past Karen towards Morelli, who was glaring at Givens. There was no explanation that was going to calm him down. Morelli wasn't prone to jealous tantrums but even he had his limits and I figured Givens had just reached them.

"How about you, Plum," Karen wanted to know next. "Did you piss anybody off?"

I tore my gaze from Morelli to look at Karen. "I don't think there's anybody I _didn't _piss off today."

Karen smiled at me for the first time without any ill will and laughed. "The task force meeting is in an hour. Don't be late."

She turned, nodded at Morelli and sashayed back to her car.

Morelli stood staring at us, eyes narrowed and hands on hips. Givens kept his arm around me and pulled me tighter against him as Morelli finally moved in our direction.

"Cupcake, what the hell are you doing with Raylan?" Morelli's tone was forced casual and I knew no matter how I answered, he'd be yelling and flapping his arms after I did.

"Pretending to be his girlfriend," I said.

"Raylan's a big boy, Steph. He can fend off Karen without you" Morelli was still struggling to remain calm. "It's bad enough having to hear gossip about you and Ranger. Do I need to hear this, too?"

"What about the gossip about you and Terry Gilman?" Great. Now I was the one who was yelling and flapping my arms.

"That's work."

"So's this."

"You sniffed him," Morelli exploded. "Don't deny it. I saw you!"

Givens backed up a step.

"Get back here, Raylan," Morelli growled. "I saw you sniffing her hair."

"And?" Givens asked. There was a stillness about him that was like the calm before a storm. I had the feeling that if Morelli said one more word, they were going to be brawling on the sidewalk.

Morelli blew out a breath. "He can't stay in your apartment anymore, Steph."

Here's the thing. I knew pretending to be Givens' girlfriend was a bad idea. I also knew it would be better for all of us if the marshals stayed in a motel. But I put my foot down at being ordered around by Morelli and told how to live my life. "He's staying."

"You're impossible!" Morelli flapped his arms in frustration. "Why can't I have a normal girlfriend who doesn't borrow badges and pretend she's a cop or another cop's girlfriend?"

"I'd rather have a woman like Stephanie," Givens put in.

"You already have a woman," Morelli barked. "Get your hands off mine." He emitted a frustrated growl, turned on his heel, got into his car and drove off.

At least they didn't end up in a fight.

"A little jealousy'll do him some good," Givens declared. "Maybe he'll stop tryin' to change you."

I rolled my eyes. There was still half a cake left and an hour before I had to go to the task force meeting. With a little luck, I'd be so high on sugar I wouldn't care about what happened at the meeting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eddie Gazzara dropped us at my parents' house where my grandmother was waiting for us at the front door. She waved to Eddie as he drove off and then greeted me. "The phone's been ringing off the hook all day. Your mother's been ironing the same shirt for three hours and she's drunk as a skunk."

"Good grief." I followed my mother in and greeted my father who was parked on the sofa, watching the news.

My mother was ironing when I walked in. "Myra Bello's daughter works for Bath & Body Works at the mall. They're hiring. You could work with bubble bath. Nobody would want to blow up your car if you worked with bubble bath and you'd get a discount."

It was true. Nobody would want to blow up my car and the idea of working with bubble bath sounded kind of soothing.

Givens reached over and gently took the iron from my mother's hand, switching it off. "I don't think that shirt's gonna get much flatter."

"I'm not even going to ask what's going on between the two of you," my mother sighed, cutting her eyes to me. "I just hope I did a good job raising you with some kind of morals. The keys are in the Buick."

She handed me a huge bag of food that I suspected might have been the entire family's dinner, slumped over the kitchen counter and started snoring.

Grandma Mazur shook her head. "You'd think with all the snorts she takes she'd be able to handle her booze better."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I led Givens into the garage and braced myself for his reaction to Big Blue. He froze in the doorway and sucked in air. Then I heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "Damn eye."

Could it be possible? Could he actually detest Big Blue as much as I did?

He ran a hand lightly over the shiny chrome bumper and looked up at me, his expression solemn. "This car's a classic. It'd be a shame if anything happened to it."

"Nothing happens to this car," I told him sadly. "Believe me, I've tried."

"I don't know if my per diem'll cover the cost of gas," he tried again.

"Do we have any other choices?"

"You could ask Ranger," Givens suggested, looking hopeful. "He likes giving you cars."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You want Ranger to give you a car, you have sex with him. I have enough problems in my life because of men right now."

Givens blew out a sigh. "Shit."

I waited but Givens didn't get behind the wheel. Finally, I asked, "Aren't you driving?"

The look he gave me said he didn't want to drive Big Blue. "It's your car."

"You're the senior marshal."

"My hat won't clear the headrest."

"Take off your hat."

Givens pulled a coin from his pocket, flipped it and raised an eyebrow at me. "Heads or tails?"

"Tails." Then I crossed my fingers.

He peeked at the coin and blew out another sigh before pitching his hat into the back seat and getting behind the wheel. "You know when Karen gets a look at this car, she'll wait extra long to assign me a new vehicle."

I knew. And I also knew Morelli would be laughing his ass off.


	23. North, South and Red All Over

Chapter 23 – North, South and Red All Over

(Raylan's Interlude)

I parked at the far end of the lot but I would have had to park on the moon for the Buick to be inconspicuous. Maybe I was being ungrateful, hell, I knew I was, but as I looked at all the plain wrap sedans in the parking lot, I felt a little twinge of jealousy. Stephanie didn't seem any happier about the Buick but she'd settled into a state of acceptance. The car was the least of her problems since her tiff with Morelli - over me, of course. Interestingly, she didn't resent me for it. I guessed they usually fought over him telling her what to do, like she wasn't capable of managing her own life. Morelli needed to grow the hell up already or she was going to get sick of the constant drama and dump him for good.

Karen was mid-sentence when we walked in. I fought the urge to check my watch but I was positive she started the meeting a few minutes early just to screw with us. At least this time we had seats. Morelli glared at me as I sat next to Stephanie, who busied herself looking over the briefing materials to avoid eye contact with him.

"Stephanie," Karen said, sharply. "Pay attention when I'm speaking. You can read those later."

Beside me, Stephanie's head snapped up and then she went completely still.

I braced myself, figuring whatever happened next wasn't going to be pretty. Instead, I got the shock of my life when Stephanie reached under the conference table and took my hand.

It was bold. It was brilliant. And it was pissing off both Morelli and Karen. In spades.

Karen locked stares with me, eyes narrowing slightly before continuing her long, boring monologue about the lack of progress the task force was making. Not even hearing about Morelli's interviews with the OB/GYNs could make it interesting.

I glanced over at Stephanie, who flashed me a smile. She was good. I preferred to work alone but if I had to be assigned a partner, I'd want Stephanie. We seemed to be on exactly the same wavelength, right down to the moment where she kissed me. I'd been about to kiss her, just to piss off Karen but Steph beat me to the punch. Same wavelength. Best not to think about the actual kiss. Except I couldn't help it. We had more chemistry in a single kiss than Karen I had in bed in a weekend. Probably this was why Winona was being so short with me on the phone. Even though the kiss meant nothing, she probably sensed I'd done something stupid. Like kissing my friend. Who was holding my hand. In a task force meeting. While her boyfriend was imagining creative ways to kill me and hide my body.

"Raylan?"

Great. My turn to report. God, I hated task forces. I went over our meetings with Vito and Dion and subsequent discovery that Vito owned the dealership. Then I explained the theory that Oxy was being moved through the dealership and that Bravo was skimming.

"There might be a connection between Vito and Bobby Barroni's Toyota dealership that went under," Stephanie piped in. "Bravo worked for both."

"We couldn't prove that," Morelli said, shooting a dirty look in my direction. "Barroni took the fall for tax evasion but wouldn't cop to distribution."

"Morelli," Karen said, "I want you to go through that case file again and see if there's any connection to the GM dealership besides Bravo. Then look at Bravo's work history for anything similar with any other dealerships or businesses. Good work, Givens."

"Actually, that was Junior Marshal Plum's work," I told her.

Karen raised an eyebrow. There was no such rank as 'junior marshal' except for the plastic kids' badges.

Shit. Me and my big mouth.

"Raylan, since both Fletcher Nix and Benito DeValli are wanted fugitives probably working for Vito, I want you and Plum to take the DeValli case too," Karen said, sliding case files to Steph and me.

Stephanie's grip on my hand tightened. She was afraid of both Nix and DeValli.

I wasn't and I planned on teaching her not to be, either.

Morelli's jaw was clenched and he was gripping the conference table so hard that his knuckles were white. It was hard to guess what was making him crazier - the case assignment, Stephanie's faux-marshal status or the fact she and I made a really cute couple. He was probably going to take a swing at me in the parking lot after the meeting and it looked like we were pretty evenly matched. I'd enjoy a good brawl, frankly.

Whose wounds would Stephanie patch up afterwards, I wondered.

xxxxxxxxx

Mercifully, the meeting didn't last much longer and I casually draped my arm around Stephanie while we waited for the elevator. Morelli and the two other Trenton cops stood behind us and I could feel Morelli staring daggers and other sharp objects into my back. There was a sharp intake of air behind me from Morelli when Stephanie slipped her arm around my waist.

The five of us got into the elevator and once again, Morelli was giving me his death glare. Last time, I ignored it. This time, I showed him _my_ death glare. It was his own damn fault he couldn't trust his girlfriend. Every order and every ultimatum pushed her further away and the man was an idiot to think she'd ever be content to simply be a housewife. The trick to being in a relationship with a beautiful, smart woman was to let her do her thing. It worked with Winona, at least up until she left me for Gary. But she was back and having my baby, so maybe there was something to it after all.

Morelli was first off the elevator and he moved quickly into the parking lot, followed by the other cops. I hung back, listening as two engines started and two cars pulled out of the lot. I could deal with going one on one with Morelli but going three on one with Trenton's finest didn't appeal.

"Something wrong?" Stephanie asked.

I shook my head and led her through the door to the parking lot where Morelli was waiting.

"Raylan!"

I turned in the direction of Morelli's voice and got a fist to the jaw for my trouble.

Everything after that was a blur of throwing punches and punches landing. Hard. Morelli was a hell of a fighter but having grown up in my father's house and Harlan, so was I.

We ended up on the ground, pummeling each other and Morelli was going for my nose when I felt a sharp blow to the backs of my knees and Morelli dropped like a sack of flour. Stephanie had just zapped him with her stun gun. I rolled and saw Karen standing over me, frowning and holding her extending baton.

"Do I need to use this again, Deputy?"

I made a noise that should have been a no but came out, "Nnnggghh."

"Plum, get Morelli out of here," Karen said, and then added, "When he can walk again, that is."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Raylan, come with me."

Looked like Morelli was right. I was going have to stay after school tonight but I'd be damned if I clapped Karen's erasers.

Karen held her tongue until we were in the office that she'd commandeered. It had a nice view of Trenton's skyline, a huge mahogany desk and a large black leather couch. I'd noticed she'd kicked her shoes off under the table during the meeting, but they were back on now, and she'd slipped into her jacket, all business. She remained standing and so did I. I wasn't going anywhere near that couch.

She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head. "You're behaving like a twelve year old with that Plum girl, Raylan. Please tell me you aren't really sleeping with her."

I kept my face blank and didn't answer. Karen was good, I knew, and she may have seen through the ruse or maybe not with Morelli's jealous reaction, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of confirming or denying anything.

Karen started pacing. "For your sake, I hope you're not."

And here it came. The lecture. I doubted Karen had half the skill at delivering a lecture that Art had.

"Have you forgotten you're her supervisor?" Karen demanded. She stopped pacing and glared at me. "It's all well and good as long as she's happy, but when something goes wrong and you're staring down the barrel of a sexual harassment suit...well, with your reputation-"

"My reputation?" I cut her off, crossing my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes to stare down at her from under the brim of the hat. "So I'm her superior, huh? Kinda like you're my superior?"

Her hands were on her hips now, and she leaned forward giving me a good view down her v-neck sweater that was probably intentional. "Just what are you insinuating?" she hissed.

"I'm not insinuating anything." I shrugged, keeping my eyes on her face.

She blew out a breath and took a different tack. "Does that pretty little thing I saw you kissing back in Kentucky know about your Jersey girl?"

That took me by surprise until I remembered Winona and Karen were in the office at the same time. I hadn't been paying attention to Karen but apparently, she had been paying attention to me. I snorted dismissively. "Winona? Sure. She met Steph down in Lexington."

There was a stunned moment of silence and I enjoyed watching the wheels in Karen's head turn while she digested that comment.

"Winona," she repeated slowly and then her eyes lit up in recognition. "_That_ Winona? Your ex-wife? The one who ran off with the realtor?"

I didn't answer. Just flashed her a grin.

"You're stringing them both along?"

I smiled again and shrugged. I was enjoying this way too much. I'd never been much of a player - dealing with one woman at a time was enough - but apparently, those were the kind of men Karen ran with since she was quick to label me as one, yet still be looking at me like I was dessert.

"You _have_ changed," she said, her voice taking on a playful lilt, like maybe I had room in my bed for girlfriend number three.

This was going so perfectly that it was a struggle to keep a straight face. "Maybe. Maybe not all that much."

"In Miami," she began, moving closer to me. "You were the one who..."

I glanced past her, out the huge picture windows at the grey New Jersey sky. "I'd say we're about as far from Miami as we can get." I met her eyes and kept my expression hard. "Wouldn't you?"

It finally sank in.

This thing between us hadn't gone anywhere in Miami and it never would. Karen's shoulders dropped for a moment, then she straightened her back and stared me down. "Yes, I suppose we are. But don't forget Marshal Givens; I am your superior and if I see anything untoward going on between you and _Junior _Marshal Plum, I'm obligated to report it."

Translation: if Karen couldn't have me, neither could some wet-behind-the-ears rookie.

"We'll keep it out of the office," I told her. I wasn't promising anything else but maybe this was a good time to end my fake relationship, before Morelli and I did more damage to each other.

xxxxxxxxxxx

I parked the Buick in the spot next to the Dumpster and hoped someone would throw a Molotov cocktail into it while I slept. To ease my aching body into sleep, I found a liquor store on the way and got myself a bottle of Jim Beam. I was too tired to ring the lobby door buzzer so I picked the lock and let myself in.

The old lady, Mrs. Bestler, was playing elevator operator again. "Goodness, you look as bad as Detective Morelli," she said, shaking her head. "Well, there's always tomorrow to catch the bad guys."

I tried to smile but my jaw hurt. "Thank you, ma'am."

She waved goodbye as I got out on the second floor and rapped on Stephanie's door. "It's Raylan."

The door flew open and Morelli blocked my entrance. "You can come in if you swear we're done fighting for the night."

I held up the brown paper bag with the bottle of Jim Beam. "No more fightin', Morelli. It's time to get good and drunk."

"I started without you." He pointed to an identical bottle of Jim Beam on the coffee table. "You need two to catch up."

I glanced over at Stephanie who was finishing the birthday cake we bought earlier. "You been drinking?"

She pointed at a tumbler with two fingers of bourbon in it. "I've been waiting to hear how much trouble we're in now."

"We're not," I told her. "I got a warning about violating the sexual harassment policy."

Morelli snorted. "Serves you right."

I helped myself to some of the frosting from Stephanie's cake. "Sweetheart, much as I've enjoyed our fake relationship and the fake orgasms and such, I think it's time for us to end things."

Stephanie swallowed her mouthful of cake. "Because of the sexual harassment thing?"

"A little but mostly because Karen finally got it through her head that I ain't interested." I raised my bottle of bourbon and toasted my success.

"So we're breaking up?" Stephanie looked up at me, blue eyes wide and wearing a heartbreakingly vulnerable expression. "Just like that? After all we've been through?"

Great. More woman problems. Just what I needed after finally getting rid of Karen. "We weren't really together, Steph -"

"You're scum, Givens! Two-timing, lying scum!" she exploded, slamming her fork down on the kitchen counter.

My mouth dropped open. "But...but...shit..."

To my confusion, Stephanie laughed and did a little victory dance. "Oh that's just perfect. We do that in the hall before the next task force meeting and Karen'll do anything to keep me happy so I don't file a harassment complaint. No more copying and fetching coffee!"

I started to speak but I decided to wait until she finished her cute dance.

"For a guy that can intimidate mobsters, you crumble against a pissed off girlfriend." Stephanie was grinning now. She found my weakness and was going to exploit it. Just like I taught her.

God, I was an idiot.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, cupcake," Morelli said. "I'm pretty sure Karen's figured out you're not a marshal and she was just screwing with Raylan's head. Right, buddy?"

I was definitely an idiot. I toasted my idiocy.

"Great." Stephanie's shoulders slumped. "There's got to be a way out of this mess."

"It's only until the case is closed, which for us is catchin' Nix and DeValli," I soothed her.

Morelli snorted. "And what happens if Karen assigns you two to something else?"

Stephanie inhaled sharply and then narrowed her eyes at me. "I'd like to know the answer to that, too."

"Art'll want me back," I said with more confidence than I felt.

"But what about me?" Stephanie lunged forward, grabbing me by my shirt and pulling hard. "I could be her unpaid intern forever because if I admit I'm not a marshal, then I go to jail for impersonating a federal officer. If that happens, I'm going down for killing one."

"I'll think of somethin'. I promise."

"Because look how well all his other bright ideas turned out," Morelli put in.

Stephanie's gaze softened and she let go of my shirt, smoothing it back down before turning to Morelli. "Kind of like my bright ideas?"

Oh. Shit. Well, better Morelli than me.

"Look, cupcake -"

"How many times have you stood right there and gone off on me for getting in over my head?" Stephanie demanded.

Morelli's jaw clenched. "Raylan's got a girlfriend and a baby on the way -"

"This isn't about sex! This is about having a friend who understands me and doesn't criticize me all the time." Now it was Morelli's turn to get his shirt twisted in Stephanie's fist. "You never teach me cop stuff. Raylan teaches me marshal stuff all the time. You keep telling me to quit and _he _thinks I could be a marshal. You want something to be jealous over, be jealous over _that...cupcake."_

She blew out a breath, let go of Morelli and headed for the bathroom. "Raylan," she called over her shoulder.

Uh-oh. She never called me Raylan. It was always Givens. "Yeah?"

"You and Morelli think of a way to get me out of being Karen's slave while I take a shower."

I considered pointing out that showering drunk might not be a good idea but decided to let Morelli be the asshole who told her what not to do.

"Cupcake, maybe you should skip the shower and go to bed." And there went Morelli, being the asshole.

"I need a shower," Stephanie insisted.

Morelli took her by the arm and tried to steer her to the bedroom. "You're drunk -"

She shook his arm off, bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door.

"She's impossible," Morelli complained.

"You're an idiot," I told him.

"Excuse me?"

"All you had to do was distract her, get her thinkin' about sex and she'd be passin' out in bed instead of the bathroom." Of course, there was a downside to that - for Morelli.

He cut his eyes to the closed bathroom door. "When she passes out, I'll handle it."

It took less than a second for me to debate the wisdom of telling him, "I've already seen her bare-naked and unconscious. I can control myself."

Morelli's reaction was worth it. The top of his head nearly blew off. "For someone who said we were done fighting, you seem hell-bent on getting your ass kicked."

"It could go the other way."

"Doubtful, _old man_," Morelli said. "I was this close to knocking your teeth out."

Before I could answer, there was the expected thump of Stephanie losing her balance in the shower. I got to the bathroom door first, kicked it open and fished her out. "Gimme a towel," I ordered Morelli.

"Gimme my girlfriend," Morelli hissed.

"Gimme a break," Stephanie slurred. Then she burped. Even though I only heard that sound once before - and just this morning, too - I knew what it meant.

I hauled her to the toilet, flipped open the lid and leaned her over just in time. "She sure does throw up a lot."

Morelli smiled tightly. "Must be you. She never pukes this much around me."

"Guess you don't get her all worked up like you used to." Stephanie seemed to be finished so I lifted her and carried her to her bed. I tucked her in and kissed her forehead. Behind me, Morelli was breathing heavily and I knew without looking that he was close to taking a swing at me.

He waited until we were back in the living room. "You have a girlfriend - a _pregnant _girlfriend - so why the hell are you sniffing around Stephanie?"

To quote Tim, because it was fun. Morelli was a ridiculously easy target. His insecurity over Stephanie was highly entertaining. "Maybe you wanna ask her why she's lettin' me sniff around her."

"I'm asking you." Morelli poured us each more bourbon. "I don't believe that kid sister bullshit for a second. You can lie to yourself but anyone with eyes can see you don't think of her that way. Unless that's what you do with your sisters back in the - whaddayacallit? - the hollers?"

Poor guy. He was tryin' hard but that wasn't the way to get to me. Mentioning Winona and the baby was coming close but it still wasn't enough. "Those'd be cousins, son. Not sisters."

He snorted and raised his glass. "You're an ass, Givens."

"And a fine one, accordin' to all the women in Jersey." I raised mine and we drank. The bourbon burned pleasantly and I felt the tension in my neck and shoulders finally start to let go.

xxxxxxxxxx

We were well into the second bottle of Beam when I knew I was well and truly drunk. Morelli might have been equally as drunk but it was a close thing. The two of us were slumped on the couch, half-watching Cajun Pawn Stars, which was a pretty good indicator of just how shit-faced we were.

Morelli picked up my Blackberry from the coffee table. "Uh-oh. Look at all these missed calls. Winona. Winona. Winona. Art. Winona. And...Winona. Somebody's in the dog house."

"Gimme that." I swiped ineffectually and Morelli held my phone out of reach, much the way I did with Stephanie's earlier.

"Nuh-uh," he said, clucking his tongue. "No drunk dialing."

"Excuse me?"

"Isn't that what you told the cupcake this morning when you took her phone?" Morelli stuffed my phone into his back pocket and smirked.

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't say nothin' and I didn't want her sayin' nothin' either."

"Christ, you're such a god damned hillbilly."

"And you're a macho, swaggerin' Italian Jersey cliche."

Morelli laughed. "Well, we've got each other pegged." He poured himself another drink. As he went to sit back on the couch, my cell buzzed from his pocket with Winona's ringtone.

"Is that Kenny Chesney?" He listened for a moment. "My god. It is Kenny Chesney." Morelli doubled over in silent laughter.

"Yeah, well, you knew it was Kenny Chesney. I figured your musical expertise started with Springsteen and ended with Bon Jovi. She picked the ringtone," I added, somewhat chagrined. "Gimme the damn phone."

"Nope."

"If I don't answer and have a reasonable excuse, Winona's gonna kiss my sorry ass goodbye and then I'll be free to really go after Stephanie. Who knows, she might appreciate a man who's willin' to let her do what she was born to do and who does all the things she likes a man to do." I raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Morelli sighed and slipped the phone out of his pocket. "It's your funeral," he said, handing it over.

"Hey," I said, trying my best to sound sober.

"Raylan? Where have you been?" Winona sounded upset. "I've been trying to reach you all day." My stomach dropped and in an instant I was totally sober. Well, almost.

"Are you okay? Is somethin' wrong with the baby?"

Morelli's eyes widened and he stared at me from the couch.

"The baby's fine, Raylan."

I took a deep breath and waited for my heart to stop pounding. "What's going on?"

"There's a buyer who's pretty interested in the house. If you're serious about finding us a place you need to tell me. Otherwise, I'll find a place myself."

The rest was unspoken. If she had to find a place, I wouldn't be sharing it.

"Winona, I told you; as soon as I get back I'll take a day and we'll go lookin' at some houses. God knows Art owes me a day."

"You promise?" Her voice had gone from pissed off and confident to small and unsure and I wished I was home.

"I promise," I said. I stepped into the kitchen, hopefully out of Morelli's earshot. "What're you wearin'?"

There was a throaty laugh on the other end. "Well, I'm in bed. What do you think I'm wearing?"

I thought for a minute. "That new nightgown?"

"Nope." Another laugh.

"Nothin'?"

"That'd be pretty useless without you here." She sighed. "I'm wearin' that plaid shirt of yours you left hangin' on the doorknob. It still smells like you." That was as close to an 'I miss you' as I was ever going to get from Winona. "Another couple of weeks though, and I won't be able to button it over my boobs."

Oh, God. I really did wish I was home. Now. I'd be able to prove Granny Morelli's eye thing was total bullshit.

I promised Winona it would just be another day or two, avoided her teasing question about the first thing I wanted to do when I got back, and said an awkward goodbye. I eyed Stephanie's clearly unused blender on the counter. Maybe putting my dick in there wasn't such a bad idea. Art was right, it would solve a lot of problems.

My glass was empty. I needed more whiskey.

Morelli was splayed out on the couch with his legs on the coffee table. His eyes were closed. Maybe he'd passed out, I hoped.

"What're you wearing?" he mocked me and then opened his eyes and laughed. "Oh, you've got it down, don't you?"

"You really shouldn't listen to other people's private conversations. It's rude," I huffed. I picked up the bottle and gave my glass a more than generous splash.

"Nah, kissing other people's girlfriends when you've got your own pregnant girlfriend/ex-wife/whatever-the-hell-she-is back in the holler, well, that's rude. Listening to other people's phone conversations is just me being a cop." He finished his tirade and burped loudly.

I considered pointing out that Steph was the one who kissed me but I did kiss her back. And I liked it more than I should have. "Lexington ain't the holler. What do they teach you in those Jersey schools?"

"They teach us coveting somebody else's girlfriend is a sin."

I rolled my eyes. "Ever have this conversation with Ranger?"

"That would be pointless. You have morals in there...somewhere." Morelli leaned forward, his gaze sharp and clear. "She likes you, for whatever reason. God, the way she talks about you drives me nuts. How you think she'd be a good marshal and how brave you think she is. If she had any idea you were just trying to get into her -"

"Whoa," I cut him off. "I do think she'd be a good marshal. Hell, I wish she were a marshal. She's about the only person I could tolerate partnerin' up with on a regular basis."

"Because you want to get her into bed."

"Because we work well together," I corrected him. "Men are gonna be attracted to her, Morelli. She's beautiful, smart and got a lot of personality, just like Winona. Chainin' her to your house ain't the way to keep her. She ain't gonna marry you when you keep tryin' to change her."

"Why wouldn't I want to change her?" Morelli demanded. "She's a lunatic, running around and getting in over her head over and over again. I want to keep her safe."

I snorted. "You mean with ultimatums? What you oughtta do is teach her how to handle herself."

"Maybe I should, starting with how to handle horny marshals who try to poach other people's girlfriends."

"I ain't gonna kiss Stephanie again." I sighed, sick of the subject of me being in love with Morelli's girlfriend and flopped down on the other end of the couch. "Anyway, I love Winona, God help me."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." He poured more JB into his glass, but didn't drink. His dark eyes stared hard into mine. "Who's idea was this baby? Yours or hers?"

"God's."

Morelli shook his head. "God sure does have a sense of humor, doesn't he?"

"Well, I ain't laughin'," I said, swallowing down what was left in my glass. It didn't taste as good as the last one, which was a pretty good indication it was time to stop.

"You want kids?" I asked Morelli.

"Yeah, yeah, I do. Someday." He gave me a long stare. "If you don't, now is a helluva time to realize it."

This conversation called for more whiskey. Only the thought of facing Karen and another task force meeting in the morning stopped me from finishing off the bottle. " I want this baby. I think. Aw hell, I don't know."

"Your parents around?" He raised an eyebrow as if he knew the answer.

"My mama's dead. My Aunt Helen, who practically raised me, she's gone, too."

"What about your father?"

"Arlo's still around. For what that's worth." The hell with it. I poured the last of the bottle into my glass and took a long drink.

"Your dad's an asshole too, huh?" Morelli said.

I was surprised. "Yours? I figured you for legacy law enforcement. Not that cops can't be assholes. I've met a few."

Morelli barely got his sip of bourbon swallowed without choking. "You thought my dad was a cop?" He let out a snort. "He got to know a lot of cops, seeing as how they'd show up at the house when the neighbors called about the shouting and screaming."

"Arlo beat the crap out of my mother and me and no one ever called anyone." I stared straight at the television where some poor idiot was trying to pawn what looked like a battered hubcap, insisting it was the hatch cover of a WWII submarine.

"Yeah, my dad beat me up, too. My mother could tell you about Morelli men. So could my grandmother. When I was fifteen, I beat the shit out of the old man and started running wild."

"I took some swings at Arlo," I admitted. Some of those swings were pretty recent, truth be told. "And I had my share of wild days before I gave up digging coal."

"Get the hell out. You were a coal miner?" Morelli was gaping at me.

"That's a story for another night. I think it's time we turn in or Karen's gonna wonder what the three of us were up to that we're all so hung over in the mornin' an' knowin' her, she'll want an invitation for tomorrow."

He shuddered. "She's hot but there's something scary about her and not in a sexy way either."

I decided to have one last bit of fun at his expense. Dragging myself up from the sofa, I ambled to Stephanie's bedroom door and laid a hand on the knob. "Night, Morelli."

A sofa cushion came flying through the air and hit me in the face.

"Get your ass on the couch, Givens. The bed - and the woman - are mine."

He was never gonna let it go.

More fun for me.


	24. Witless Protection

Chapter 24 – Witless Protection

I opened my eyes and knew there was somebody else in my apartment. Besides Morelli and Givens. The only person I knew who was sneaky enough to get past both a cop and a marshal was Ranger.

He was standing on my side of the bed and I heard the faintest rustle of clothing before he whispered in my ear. "Get up. We have work to do."

Before I could open my mouth, he silenced me with a finger to my lips.

"I found Levi Spinelli."

It took almost a minute but then I remembered hearing the name in one of Karen's endless task force meetings. They were looking for him to see what he knew about two other deaths that were probably the handiwork of Benny the Blowtorch.

"Let them sleep it off," Ranger whispered.

That's when I smelled Morelli beside me. And heard him. He only snored like that when he'd been drinking too much and he smelled like he'd had an entire bottle of bourbon. There were similar snores from the living room.

Just what the hell had they gotten up to after I went to bed? And why was I naked? Probably it was better if I didn't know.

I knew what Morelli was like with a hangover and decided I'd rather not know what Givens was like. Ranger handed me a small, folded pile of clothes and I slipped into the bathroom, pulled my hair into a half-assed ponytail and got dressed. I gave myself some extra coats of mascara, grabbed my bag and tiptoed out of my apartment.

Ranger didn't say a word until we were in the parking lot. "First cars, then my men and now members of two branches law enforcement. Babe."

"That wasn't my fault!"

He slid behind the wheel of his black Porsche. "Morelli and the marshal were fighting over something and I don't think it was the case."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We drove to Cherry Hill, passing through streets where people were sleeping soundly in their gated communities. It was a fancy middle class neighborhood and I wondered what Spinelli was doing here.

"Spinelli's staying with his girlfriend," Ranger told me. "Apparently nobody knew he's been dating a nice Jewish girl. Rivka Friedman. She goes to college just over the bridge in Philly."

I wanted to ask how Ranger found out but he'd just smile and tell me it was magic.

We pulled up at the gate of a fancy development where Tank let us in. That's when I realized that Rangeman probably provided security for the development and running across Spinelli had been pure luck.

"He still in there?" Ranger asked Tank.

Tank nodded.

Ranger walked soundlessly through the fancy gated complex until we reached a house at the far end, overlooking the golf course. He didn't hesitate, just turned the knob and walked right into the darkened house.

The lights went on immediately and there was Levi Spinelli, holding a gun in his hand. "Don't move."

Ranger went still. "Put the gun down, Levi. We're here to talk."

"I know who you are," Levi shot back. "My mother said you were looking for me." His gaze ticked to me and rested on the borrowed badge that I clipped on without thinking when we walked out. "You're some kind of cop?"

I studied the nineteen year old and asked myself what Givens would do. Givens would have made short work of this gangly, awkward kid in the yarmulke. "I'm a US Marshal," I lied. "You're in a lot of trouble, Levi, but not from me. I'm the only one that can protect you."

"If I turn rat," Levi countered.

"Do you have any other plays?" Where was this coming from? Maybe I grabbed Givens' badge by accident and I was channeling him. "What are you going to do? Wait to see if Vito sends Benny or Fletcher for you? Witness protection is all you have left. Otherwise, who'll take care of your mother when you're dead?"

Levi swallowed and he lowered the gun. "You can protect us, right? My ma and me?"

Since he wasn't bringing up his girlfriend, I decided I wouldn't either. "Absolutely. All you have to do is come with me to Trenton and I'll send someone to get your mother."

"I'll make the call," Ranger said and I realized he probably had someone watching Levi's mom. "Let's go."

Tank peeked in from the front door. "We're clear."

Ranger leaned down and whispered in my ear. "I'm liking the law enforcement thing, babe. Very sexy."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I had no idea what to do about witness protection so I called the one person who could help me. He answered on the third ring, sounding grumpy and more than a little hung over.

"Where the hell did you go?"

"I'm bringing in Levi Spinelli, sir." With Levi in the backseat, I needed to play marshal and make it convincing. That meant addressing Givens like he was really my boss and pretending I knew what I was talking about. "He's ready to go into WitSec."

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the phone. "Somebody's been watchin' a lot of TV, haven't they? All right, Junior Marshal, get Spinelli to Karen and I'll call her to get the ball rollin' on an MOU."

A what? "Yessir."

Another chuckle. "Spinelli's listenin', isn't he?"

"Yes, sir, Deputy Givens."

"Morelli's pissed," Givens told me. "Apparently, his cure for a hangover ain't McDonald's French fries and it's something he needs his girlfriend to do."

I sank down in my seat and prayed Levi couldn't see me blushing. Ranger could and he probably heard what Givens said too. "I'll see you at the morning briefing, sir."

Cripes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Karen was waiting in the parking lot when we pulled in. She raised an eyebrow as Ranger escorted Spinelli out of the car and then cut her gaze to me. "Not your usual backup, Plum."

"No." It was the best answer and a lot easier than trying to explain why Ranger was helping me.

"This way, Mister Spinelli," Karen said, taking him by the arm. "You and I are going to have a nice chat and see how the Marshals Service can help you once you've helped us."

Levi looked over his shoulder at me and was on the verge of full-scale panic. "What about her? Why isn't the hot marshal coming?"

Because the hot marshal wasn't really a marshal and everybody knew it, even if nobody was admitting it.

Karen turned, looking at me with a smile that wouldn't have been out of place on a cobra. "All right, Plum. Your partner and Detective Morelli are inside. They'll show you what to do."

"Yes, ma'am." I glanced over at Ranger and saw the corners of his mouth curving slightly, as close to a smile as he'd get in public.

As I took Spinelli's arm and started to lead him inside, Karen hissed in my ear, "If any of you three screw this up with whatever is going on between you, I'm holding you personally responsible, Plum."

There was no doubt in my mind that we were going to screw this up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Givens and Morelli were both standing and clutching large cups of black coffee as I led Levi into the the small conference room. They both had an assortment of bruises on their faces and each looked hung-over and more than a little pissy.

Morelli spoke first. "Deputy Plum, can we -"

"I need a word, Plum," Givens said.

Uh-oh. I was about to be lectured about running off with Ranger - in stereo.

Givens took my arm before Morelli did and guided me to the door. "We'll just be a minute, Mr. Spinelli."

Morelli shut the door once we were all out in the hall and shook his head. "Are you out of your mind -"

"Morelli." Givens winced and lowered his voice, looking down at me with an expression that was both stern and serious. "Have I ever run off without you?"

Oh no. Givens was going to give me a guilt trip. That was going to be a thousand times worse than any scolding Morelli could dream up. "I'm sorry -"

"Sorry? You're sorry? Shit, Steph." He heaved a weary sigh. "It's one thing shadowin' me out in the field but you're bringing in a material witness. It has to be done right or everything he tells us gets thrown out. That means whatever we use that information for - arrestin' Blowtorch or Ice Pick or even takin' down Vito - gets thrown out too. All our hard work, all the shit we went through on this case, is for nothin'."

I cut my eyes to Morelli and he was giving me cop-face.

"You about done, Raylan?" he asked.

Givens nodded. "Your turn."

"Thank you." Morelli blew out a sigh. "I agree with everything Raylan just said."

That was a first.

"And," Morelli said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it, "I'm going to add that Ranger is a lunatic. You could've gotten killed. These are mobsters we're dealing with, cupcake. You know how dangerous they are. We're trying to protect you - right, Raylan?"

Givens nodded. "You took your badge but you didn't take your gun, Steph."

"I was with Ranger and Tank -"

"Neither of whom are deputized," Givens said. "If things went south, it woulda been a mess. It's one thing for me to make those kinds of messes but Art specifically told me to watch out for you because that's what a senior marshal does with a rookie."

It was amazing how much guilt he was shoveling on with as big a hangover as he had. If he'd been completely fine, probably I'd be bawling. "I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."

"I know you are." Givens hooked his free hand onto my shoulder and squeezed. "You ain't gonna do that again, are you?"

I shook my head. Cripes. One more word from him and I _was _going to start crying.

"I'm not finished," Morelli protested.

"She gets it. Ranger's dangerous and she coulda been killed." Givens was smirking at Morelli now. "You were worried about her and you love her. Tell Morelli you love him, too and you're sorry, Steph."

I opened my mouth and all I could manage was a sniffle.

"Shit," Morelli muttered. "You're making her cry."

"You've got two minutes to comfort her and get her ready to interrogate Spinelli." Givens winked at me and strolled down the hall to where Karen was standing.

As I leaned into Morelli's arms, I wondered if Morelli knew he'd just been had by Givens and if he even cared.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Levi kept his eyes on me, probably figuring I was the safest to talk to out of the three of us. "So about that deal..."

"Whether you get a deal depends on how useful your information is," Givens said, sipping his coffee. "You feed us useless bullshit and we'll drop you back on the street in front of Vito's dry cleaner shop."

Morelli slapped a folder down in front of Levi and flipped it open to photograph of a charred body. "This is what the Blowtorch did to your friend, Rico." He pulled out another photo of Jimmy Bravo. "And this is what the Ice Pick did to Bravo."

Levi's olive skin went a sickly shade of green.

Great. If Givens was bad cop and Morelli was even-badder cop, that meant I was the good cop even though I had no clue what I was doing. What would a good cop ask? I went with my gut, figuring Morelli and Givens would jump in if I asked the wrong thing. "Start at the beginning."

Givens gave the tiniest of nods in my direction.

"It was Dion's idea," Levi said.

"Dion? With the nose?" I asked.

Levi cracked a smile. "Yeah."

I cut my eyes to Givens and then asked the inevitable, "What was his idea?"

"Skimming the shipments of Oxy. Jimmy was the one who found the old broads to buy it and they were paying twice what we charged on the street. It was genius," Levi explained.

"What about Rico and Ken?" Morelli wanted to know.

Levi drew a deep breath. "They worked with me. We were the ones moving the shit in."

"How?" Givens asked just as I asked, "From where?"

Levi's eyes darted from Givens to me. "From Kentucky, some little town in shit-kickersville, I guess. They'd drive it over to Atlantic City in a church bus and we used a tour bus to bring it here to Trenton. Dion bought the bus." He licked his lips. "What about my deal?"

Givens flashed him a feral smile that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Not yet, Levi. We haven't gotten to the part about your friends ending up dead."

"I don't know," Levi said. "Dion called us, said to meet him at the warehouse where he kept the tour bus. I was late and when I got there, the whole joint was on fire. So I ran. That's all I know."

"What do you think happened?" I asked.

"I think the old man figured out someone was skimming and Dion blamed it on Rico," Levi told me. "Then he tried killing all of us to cover his tracks."

It made sense but Morelli didn't look satisfied. "Let's go over a few things."

Givens took me by the arm and steered me out into the hall. "Let Morelli finish grillin' Levi. You and me, we're gonna get us a warrant and go get Dion."

"But -"

"It'll be fun." He flashed me a flirty smile just as Karen came towards us. "You were just complainin' how we don't do anything fun anymore."

Karen raised an eyebrow and then narrowed her eyes at me. "What fun were you proposing to have with Junior Marshal Plum, Raylan?"

"Work-related fun," I said quickly. "An arrest warrant. Tell her Raylan."

She sighed. "All right, you two. Spill and if your story is any good, I'll get you your warrant."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

I looked down at the warrant in my hand for what must have been the thousandth time because Givens glanced over at me and snorted softly.

"I wish I could let you serve him with it," he said, steering Big Blue down Route 1. "Unfortunately, we have to follow procedure and do this by the book. You can help interrogate Dion later, though. You've got the good cop thing down. We need to work on your bad cop."

"Don't I need to be a cop to do bad cop?"

He snorted again. "Are you kiddin'? The way you went off on Morelli over Terry Gilman? Trust me, you can do bad cop just fine."

I rolled my eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes. You got to show off some of what I taught you to Morelli, didn't you?" Givens grinned at me. "No matter how pissed he is that I've got you pretendin' to be a marshal, he's gotta be impressed with how well you're handlin' yourself in the field. In fact, you're doin' better as a marshal than as a bounty hunter."

"You think so?"

"Karen was impressed that you turned Levi so easily."

I was stunned. And then I was suspicious. "Karen would never say anything nice about me."

"Not to your face, no."

Now I was sure I was being played. "What aren't you telling me, Givens?"

He blew out a sigh. "I promised Karen you'd wait in the car while I arrested Dion. It was either that or you couldn't come and I knew you'd wanna be there."

The truth was, I preferred to be miles away when Givens hauled Dion off to the pokey because I was pretty sure that no matter how by-the-book the arrest was supposed to be, something bad would happen. Probably involving Dion's nose again.

As we turned up Dion's street, we saw the fire trucks. Lots of them.

"Shit," Givens muttered.

The house was completely engulfed in flames and there were two body bags on the front lawn. Benny the Blowtorch had gotten to Dion first.

"Know what this means?" Givens asked me.

"There's a leak somewhere?" I ventured.

"Very good, Junior Marshal Plum. Karen ain't gonna be happy."

Neither was Morelli.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Shit! Shitshitshitshit," were Karen's first words when she arrived at the scene. "Any idea who the second body is, Raylan?"

"Female is all they can tell us right now," he replied. "That and the fire was deliberate, according to Frank from the arson squad over there."

She nodded, her eyes sweeping over me but still speaking to Givens. "Where's your partner? Your real one."

"Tim Gutterson," he told her, not looking the least bit ashamed or worried at admitting he'd been lying all this time about me being a marshal. "I've got him followin' Joyce Barnhardt to see if she knows where to find Nix."

"Any luck?"

"Not so far." Givens rested a hand on my shoulder. "Barnhardt's been chasin' skips for the Plum Agency. Last I heard, she was huntin' some kid named Baggett in Atlantic City."

I narrowed my eyes. Stuart Baggett wasn't the type to go to Atlantic City to hide. That meant... Ohmigod. Tim and Lula were... Yuck!

Karen frowned as her eyes locked with mine. "Get Gutterson back here. I want him backing up Morelli, guarding Levi at the safe house. I texted you the address, text it to Gutterson. We're limiting open communications until I can figure out who the leak is. That means my core team is Morelli, Gutterson, you...and Plum."

Me? Was she serious?

"Plum, you do exactly what the senior marshals tell you," she added. "I want you sticking to Raylan like white on rice so he can keep an eye on you. If he tells you to do something that doesn't sound like it's by the book, call me. If you can't reach me, call Gutterson, then Morelli. We're going to salvage this case, got me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Consider yourself duly deputized under Section thirty-nine(b)." Karen turned to Givens. "Go squeeze Grizzoli."

"I deputized you first," Givens murmured as Karen walked away.

I rolled my eyes. "Did you really just say that?"

He gave me an aw-shucks grin and shrugged. "It's true, ain't it?"

Why me?


	25. Determination and Sheer Dumb Luck

Chapter 25 - Determination and Sheer Dumb Luck

"You need a doughnut first?" Givens asked me, pulling into a spot in front of Tasty Pastry. "I could use one. Might help with this hangover."

"We're supposed to -"

"He's expectin' us." Givens killed the engine and angled out of the car. "Let him wait and sweat."

"But -"

"Boston cream." He looked at me expectantly. "I'm buyin'."

"But -"

"Are you really gonna turn down a doughnut?"

"We're supposed to -"

"Fine," Givens sighed, laying the fake exasperation on extra thick. "I'll buy a dozen, okay? Eat however many you gotta and I'll pretend it was just one."

The man knew his criminals and if he thought dragging out our meeting with Vito for some doughnuts was a good idea, who was I to argue? Besides, he was buying the doughnuts. I followed him into the bakery and froze in my tracks.

Grandma Bella was there, buying a coffee cake. She turned slowly in our direction.

Givens' hand dropped to his gun and his eyes narrowed at her, showing her his hung-over version of his feral expression. "You give me the eye again and I'm gonna lock you up for assaultin' a federal officer. That's federal time, granny, not some cushy Jersey prison. So either turn around, get your coffee cake and leave or we have it out. Understand?"

There was a long moment while she stared back at him. Then she shrugged, paid for her coffee cake and walked out.

I exhaled.

Givens grinned. "I've had enough of her and her eye."

And just like that, the man from Kentucky found his Jersey attitude. Things were starting to look up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We pulled into a spot in front of Crystal Cleaners and found it was closed. The security gates were drawn and the usual double parked cars were nowhere to be seen. Givens turned to me. "That's not usual, is it?"

I shook my head. "The only time it's ever closed is Easter and Christmas."

"I guess we're gonna have to go visit Vito at his house," Givens said. He rubbed his chin in thought. "First though, I want to see you shoot. Things are starting to get a little dangerous and if I need you backin' me up, I wanna make sure you shoot the bad guys instead of me."

"I know how to shoot," I huffed.

"You won't mind showing me then, will you?" He put the car in gear. "Without takin' your gun out of the holster, tell me if it's loaded."

I had to think for a minute, judging the weight on my hip. "Yes."

"No," Givens told me. "I promised Morelli you wouldn't go runnin' around with a loaded gun until I got you on the range and ran you through some training. First thing you need to know is when your gun is loaded."

"You gave it to me-"

"And you didn't check it, did you?"

"Because you gave it to me."

"And I appreciate the trust but if you wanna be a marshal, you need to know everything about the weapon you're carrying. What can you tell me about the one you got?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's black and it shoots bullets."

"What kind of bullets?" He glanced over at me, corners of his mouth quirking slightly.

"Little ones?" I remembered what Ranger said about .45 hydro shocks and added, "Little ones that leave great big exit wounds?"

Givens chuckled. "No, no cop killers for you, Stephanie. You get regular .40 caliber bullets. How many rounds does the gun hold?"

My .38 was a five shot so I guessed. "Six?"

"Nine," he corrected me.

"I don't like guns," I complained as he parked in front of the range. "Can't you do the shooting? You're good at it."

Givens came around to my side of the car. "You've managed to get out of this every day I said I was gonna bring you here. No more excuses or emergencies, Junior Marshal Plum. You're going inside and you're learning how to shoot like a pro."

Lucky me.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Just shoot?" I asked. "Aren't you going to tell me what to do?"

Givens shook his head. "I want you to show me how _you _shoot first. Empty the clip into the target and we'll see how much instruction you need."

I blew out a sigh and slid the protective headgear on. It was easy to forget Givens had 'firearms instructor' among his other skills. I felt self-conscious and stupid as I raised the gun and squeezed a shot at the paper target. I felt even dumber when the bullet went wide and missed the target altogether. Frustrated, I pulled the trigger eight more times without bothering to aim. Then I pulled off the headgear and waited for the inevitable criticism.

Givens pressed the button and examined the target when it stopped moving. "Two went wide, three just pissed him off and four wounded him. I'll bet if you had your eyes open and actually tried aiming, you'd have done pretty good."

"I don't like guns," I repeated.

"I thought you were just pissed because the gear messed up your hair." He loaded a fresh clip into the gun, handed it to me and hooked up a fresh target. "Use the sight on the gun to aim."

I raised the gun and tried to line up the sight.

Givens came up behind me, placing his hands over mine, positioning them. "Ease up on the tension in your elbows. Now raise your arms up, like this."

It was weirdly intimate but there was nothing sexual in the way he was touching me. Still, Morelli would have blown a gasket if he saw what Givens was doing. I put my headgear back on and raised the gun like Givens showed me.

He adjusted my posture again and nodded.

I fired.

When the clip was empty, I slid off the headgear and pressed the target return.

"Look at that." Givens was grinning. "Three dead center, three enough to wound him bad and three we're not gonna talk about, other than to say you need to keep practicin'."

"Shouldn't we go see Vito?"

"I booked us an hour and if you wanna leave before that hour is up, then give me six shots center mass." He raised his eyebrows in challenge and hooked up a new target.

I loaded a fresh clip into the gun, rammed the headset on and fired quickly, emptying the clip.

Givens brought the target back and whistled softly. "Seven out of nine. Were you just pretendin' to be a lousy shot?"

"Maybe." I was good under pressure but truth was, those seven shots were a miracle.

"Let's see you do that again." He put up a new target.

"You said -"

"One more time." Givens eyed me. "And I wanna see you holdin' the gun like I just showed you. You keep holdin' it like you do, you're gonna drop it from the recoil when your arms get tired."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, my arms were killing me and my hair was a disaster. Halfway through my torture session, Givens demonstrated how fast he could pull his weapon and how many bullets he could shoot into the center of the target. It would have been impressive if it didn't scare the crap out of me.

He set my targets into the back seat. "Morelli wants to see them."

"So you two are buddies now? It's hard to tell."

Givens shrugged. "He's a little overprotective and jealous when it comes to you and it seems like no matter what I do, it pushes his buttons."

"Are you sure it's not because you like pushing his buttons?" I asked.

He gave me an innocent look. "Now why would I do somethin' like that?"

"I think you should knock it off already," I told him. "The two of you keep pounding on each other like you've been, you won't be in any shape to take down the bad guys."

"That's why I'm training you," Givens said, setting his hat down in the back seat.

My mouth dropped open and then I realized he was pushing _my_ buttons. "That's not funny."

"Sure it was." He slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine. "Not as funny as the way you were handlin' your gun an hour ago but close."

I rolled my eyes. "Is it as funny as Karen playing you this entire time?"

We pulled into traffic and Givens reached over to ruffle my hair. "Nope and not as funny as you pretending you don't want another doughnut."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Vito Grizolli's house was in Ewing, set off a cul-de-sac. It was a beige brick McMansion, decorated by his wife - his third and much younger wife, according to Burg gossip. The house was set back on the property and there were wrought-iron security gates guarded by two large men in suits with cell phones.

One of them leaned down by Givens' window. "He's expecting you. Drive in and and Carlo will take you to him, Deputy."

Givens cranked the window up and cut his eyes to me. "Breathe, Steph. I'm right here, watchin' over you. Besides, you can shoot almost as good as me now."

"Maybe we can get out of here without ending up in a gun fight," I suggested.

"Keep your eyes open and if anything strikes you as suspicious, let me know." His expression was deadly serious. "I know my outlaws and you know your Trenton natives. Between the two of us, we should be just fine."

We pulled over at the end of the long driveway where another guy in a suit met us.

"You must be Carlo," Givens said, taking my arm and pulling me behind him, protectively.

Carlo stared hard at Givens. "He's in mourning so keep a respectful tongue in your mouth or we'll cut it out."

"Mourning? Over Dion?"

"No, _stunad_," Carlo snapped. "His granddaughter. She was with Dion when..." He trailed off. "That's for the boss to tell you. Just remember what I said, _capisce_?"

Givens turned to me, emphasizing his Kentucky accent as he asked, "You mind translatin' all that for me, sugar britches? I don't speak Jersey mobster."

Carlo growled and narrowed his eyes at Givens. "Don't be an asshole."

In response, Givens flashed him a huge goofy grin. "See? You can bridge that language barrier just fine when you make an effort."

Ohmigod. Who was this guy and why did he only materialize when we were dealing with scary mobsters?

We followed Carlo along the side of the house and onto the back patio where Vito was sitting at a wrought iron table, waiting for us. He was wearing a pair of dress slacks, a shirt and a tie. On his feet were a pair of loafers that I guessed were Ferragamo or Gucci. The suit coat hung on the back of his chair and when he looked up at us, he seemed more like a tired old man than a dangerous mob boss.

"My granddaughter is dead," Vito began without preamble.

"So's your boy, Dion," Givens said.

Vito spat on the ground. "Stay out of this, Marshal. The situation will resolve itself."

Givens shook his head. "You caused this situation by sending Benny after Dion. You plannin' on cleaning up your mess by sending Nix after Benny? Then what? Offing Nix? That's too many bodies. You know I can't stay out of it and neither can the task force that's lookin' to put you away."

Arching one perfect silver eyebrow, Vito smiled at Givens and that smile made my blood run cold. "I've been dealing with one task force or another since you were in short pants, my friend. They've come and gone, but I'm still here."

Givens returned the smile and emitted a little laugh that had not one iota of humor. "True enough. It's also true that Nicky Irrizary in Jersey City ain't gonna be too happy with all the attention you're bringin' down on yourself. Neither is Theo Tonin. You've been working with Theo behind Nicky's back. Seems to me like a task force is the least of your worries, Vito."

I had no idea who Nicky Irrizary was. That name never came up in any of the task force materials but it looked like Vito knew Nicky well and he didn't like that Givens knew him, too.

"I can handle Nicky and I can handle your task force. What I want you to handle is staying out of it," Vito said.

"You're sendin' one federal fugitive after another." Givens' voice took on an edge. "How do you think that's gonna play out? I'm betting it's gonna be messy, with lots of dead bodies, maybe even yours. So no, I'm not staying out. Not even if you ask nicely and use the magic word."

Vito looked confused. "Magic word? Is that what you shitkickers call being on the take?"

"Please," Givens said. "The magic word is please. My mama raised me to have manners, even when dealing with lowlife shitbags like yourself. Now, please think about your position. Please think about what Theo's gonna do when he finds out Benny burned your stock of pills to the ground. Please think about what Nicky's gonna do when he finds out you been dealin' with Detroit. And when you're done thinkin', please speak real loud into the hidden microphones and we'll get you into WitSec because we're not above usin' someone like you to get some even lower life form."

My vision swam. Was this what Karen meant by applying pressure?

Givens reached over, plucked a rose from the flower arrangement on the table and handed it to me. "Nice seein' you, Vito. I enjoyed our little chat."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I waited until we were back in the car and in motion before I asked, "Who's Nicky Irrizary and how did you know Benny torched the pills?"

Givens cut his eyes to me and grinned. "Nicky's been cooperatin' with us for years. When it's convenient, of course. He'd hand us Vito on a plate with pesto if it suited him. And I didn't know for sure Benny torched the pills until Vito confirmed it. Now we know somethin' new."

It was hard not to be impressed with Givens. I'd played my share of hunches but not surrounded by an army of mobsters.

"You could do it too," Givens added, as if he could read my mind. "Problem is, you've got more people tellin' you what you can't do instead of what you can."

"But doesn't going in there and knowing you're outnumbered and outgunned scare the crap out of you?" I asked.

He turned to me. "Nope."

That was it? Nope? No explanation? No big marshal lesson on how he learned not to be afraid? I narrowed my eyes at him. "Ever?"

"Did you not see where I grew up?" Givens reached over and patted my arm. "Seems to me Trenton ain't much different, except your parents were decent folk and you didn't have much exposure to the outlaws until you became a bounty hunter. Were you scared back there, Stephanie?"

"Yes."

"Even though I was right there, protectin' you?"

"Yes." Uh-oh. Now I was starting to feel guilty.

"Even after you've seen me shoot?"

"Yes!"

He turned to me again, looking surprised. "Really? Why?"

"Because any normal person would be scared out of their minds!" I shouted.

"A person without a badge," Givens said, quietly. "Killin' me would have brought an even bigger shit storm down on Vito. He knew that and I knew I was walkin' out of there. The badge doesn't make you bullet proof but it does make people like Vito think twice. That's why you wanna be a marshal."

The more I saw Givens in action, the less I wanted to be a marshal. Except Tim didn't seem to do the things Givens did. "Does Tim do stuff like that?"

Givens snorted. "Tim does all kinds of shit. He's got those skills he picked up in the Army."

"And Rachel?"

"In her own way. A big part of this job is dealin' with people like Vito and people even worse than him. They're not very different. They're motivated by greed, they like power and they're followed by people who'd sell 'em out in a heartbeat to the competition or someone higher on the food chain. That's their weakness." Givens stopped at a light and looked at me. "Everything else is just noise. Don't matter if they deal in Oxy or cocaine. They all have the same weak spot. Still scared?"

When he put it like that... "Yes."

He chuckled. "You think Morelli is scared?"

"Morelli works homicide."

"Most of the homicides here in Trenton are mob-related."

I buried my face in my hands. Morelli and I never talked much about his job. This was probably why.

Givens cell phone rang and he answered it with a brusque, "Yeah, Tim? We were just talkin' about -. Shit. Call Karen." With that, he ended the call, pulled over and turned to me. "Stephanie."

The tone of his voice scared me. My mind started racing as I started thinking about someone hurting Grandma Mazur or my mother-

"It's Morelli," Givens said quietly. "He's missing."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What?"

"Tim found Levi dead and Morelli is missing." Givens' eyes bored into mine, watching me carefully as he added, "Levi was shot in the head but he had what Tim is positive was an ice pick wound in his right hand."

My vision swam as I tried to focus. Fletcher the Ice Pick had Morelli. Why? To get to Benny? To get information about the task force? To get to me?

"Steph?"

I wrenched open Big Blue's massive door, not knowing or caring where we were, my mind reeling.

"Steph?" Givens followed me, reaching for my arm. "Steph, come on. The task force -"

"Your task force is what put Morelli in danger," I said, pulling away. "I'm done with it. I'll find Morelli myself."

Givens nodded, his expression worried. "Okay. How are you gonna do that?"

"The same way I find all my FTAs."

In other words, determination and sheer, dumb luck.


	26. Ex Marks the Spot

Chapter 26

I drove us back to center city Trenton, to the nondescript building that houses Rangeman Security. Using the fob on my key ring, I fobbed open the security gate and drove into the underground parking garage. Ranger wasn't going to be happy about my bringing Givens along and I wondered how Ranger's merry men were going to react.

Givens didn't say a word as I led him into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor. I was pretty sure he noticed all the security cameras. The seventh floor of the building was Ranger's private apartment, which was kept for him by Ella. She made sure his refrigerator was stocked, his closets were filled with an appropriate assortment of immaculate black clothing and he had the best smelling shower gel in the world.

Brett was waiting for us when we got off the elevator. "Ranger said to make sure you got whatever you needed and to tell you he's already looking for Morelli."

Of course Ranger knew.

Givens was peering around, fascinated by the black clad men huddled around the monitors in the control room.

I grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the cubicle I used whenever I worked at Rangeman. Brett followed behind us. "Can you bring us a couple of sandwiches?" I asked him, not because I was hungry but because I didn't need him hovering. Okay, maybe I was a little hungry.

Brett shuffled off towards the kitchen.

Givens hooked the guest chair in the cubicle with his hand and pulled it alongside mine. "You're gonna re-run those searches on Benny and Ice Pick?"  
>I nodded, powering on the computer. "Benny, Ice Pick, Vito, Dion, everybody. If there's a mole in the task force, maybe information was lost somewhere. Besides, Ranger's databases are much better than the ones you guys use."<p>

"If you can get me a computer, I'll take half the names," he offered.

"No! You guys have screwed this up enough already.". I clapped a hand over my mouth, horrified by what I just said.

Givens reached over and kneaded my shoulder. "We did. It was a mistake sendin' Morelli by himself. And you're right about the research bein' screwed up. Those files are way thinner than they should be, considerin' all the years of scrutiny on the subjects. I didn't pay much attention because we were only after Nix but I'm payin' attention now."

Great. Now I felt even worse about shooting off my mouth. "I need to talk to the guys about setting you up."

Before I could get out of my seat, Brett was back and he was carrying a laptop and a large shopping bag that smelled like it came from Giovichinni's. He handed the laptop to Givens and set the bag of food down. "Ranger said to give the Marshal full access. Let me know if you need anything else."

"I could get used to this," Givens said, opening the laptop. It instantly came to life, the menu of search programs on the screen. "Which names do you want me to run?"

If this were Morelli or Ranger, I would have been taking orders, not giving them. Givens was content to step back and let me run with my hunch. He was, quite possibly, the best friend I'd ever had. I sniffled and resisted the urge to hug him.

"Steph?"

I gave in, threw my arms around him and buried my face against his shoulder.  
>"Aw shit. Don't cry. We'll find Morelli and maybe you can find a nice, justifiable way to shoot the son of a bitch.". Givens rubbed my back. "Wouldn't be a big loss to the community or nothin'. Come on now, stop cryin'. We've got a lot of names and information to run."<p>

I wiped my eyes and nodded. "You pick three and I'll pick three, then we'll compare notes and pick the next batches."

"Deal.". He peered into the Giovichinni's bag. "There's a lot of food here."

"There are a lot of names."

We smiled at each other, took our files and started working.

"Well, this is enough information for a task force.". Givens looked down at the stack of folders we'd filled and the notepads where we jotted our thoughts on each.

"We need space to spread all this out and organize our thoughts," I agreed. Also, I needed to stand up and walk off those sandwiches I'd eaten. "There's a conference room with a whiteboard we can use."

"Well look at you, channelin' your inner Karen Goodall.". He bent and scooped up the giant stack of paper. "Just don't start sexually harassin' me. I've had enough of that for one trip to Jersey."

I spread out the files on the conference table, grabbed the whiteboard marker and started writing. It took nearly half an hour for us to organize our thoughts but when I stepped back from the whiteboard, I had a plan. The thing was, I was pretty sure Givens had one way before that. "So what do we do first?"

"What do you think we should do?" he countered.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I gestured to Brett, who was hovering outside the conference room. "Can you guys run a comparison of these files to what the task force was using? We're looking for a leak in the task force."

"We have someone who specializes in that," Brett said.

Of course they did. "Thanks."

"You need anything else?"

"I'm good.". I waited for him to leave and turned back to Givens. "Okay, here's what we know. Nix is new in town which means he doesn't have a lot of allies and doesn't have a lot of places to stash Morelli. Places of his own, that is. Dion, Bravo and Levi had access to those kinds of places. So does Vito. We've got a list of places in the area and we can assume Nix wouldn't go far with Morelli. Too much risk. Between Tim and the two of us, it would still take a day or two to check all of them. This leads us back to what Nix wants with Morelli. Nix is looking for Benny the Blowtorch and now so are we so I'll bet he wants to trade if we find Benny first. Which means we have to find Benny first. Benny's from Jersey. He's got an aunt, a sister and an ex-wife we can question."

Givens nodded approvingly. "So what are we doing?"

"Finding Benny and assuming Nix is keeping Morelli alive.". That was my head talking. My heart and gut were screaming at me to turn Jersey upside down until I found Morelli. How many times had he found me, just in time?

"That's a good plan," Givens said. "I can put Tim on checking those properties while we go after Benny. Hell, I bet Ranger's already on it. Those two should be workin' together anyway."

I let out a breath. "You'd tell me if I was screwing up, right?"  
>"Absolutely. But you're not. You're doing all the right things and makin' all the right decisions."<p>

"Really?". It always came as a shock when Givens said things like that.

He grinned. "Why do you think Karen decided to deputize you?"

Because she needed someone to blame this fiasco on if it went completely sideways. Still, I figured Givens was being sincere. "You can be the marshal in charge again."

"Unh-uh. We're a team, Plum. Now shine up your badge and let's save Morelli."

Starting with Benny's ex-wife was a no-brainer. Having gone through a divorce of my own, I knew nobody was willing to hand away incriminating dirt without much encouragement like a pissed off ex.

Mary Margaret DeValli lived in a squat complex just off Hamilton. It was older than mine and a bit rundown but had a neatly tended front yard with carefully arranged bushes of flowers. The sun was starting to set and the smells of dinner wafted through the air. I could smell stuffed cabbage and pot roast. Or maybe that was my imagination.

Givens was looking down at me, lips quirking. "You might wanna wipe the drool off your chin before we go question the ex."

"Excuse me?"

"You're sniffin' the air like a bloodhound. Don't tell me you're hungry after that giant pile of sandwiches."

Fine. I wouldn't tell him. I'd just steer the car to a drive through when we were done.

To my surprise, Givens pulled a set of lock picks from his pocket and jimmied the building's front door open. He turned to me with a grin. "You'd never believe how many outlaws I caught with their exes. No sense warnin' Benny if he's up there."

No sense telling Givens that I liked to do the same thing except my lock picking skills were non-existent. My strategy involved ringing all the neighbors bells until someone let me in.

Putting a finger to his lips, Givens bypassed the elevator and headed for the stairs, his boots soundless on the tile floor.

I groaned inwardly. My CAT boots wouldn't make a sound but I was pretty sure the sound of me gasping for air after climbing five flights would be audible for miles. If I didn't have a heart attack first.

I was sweating and gasping by the time we made it to apartment 5-D.  
>Givens shook his head at me and yanked me past the door while he cocked his head to listen.<p>

I heard the clanking of silverware and the smell of pot roast was strong. Mary Margaret DeValli was still single and had no children. No single person would go through the aggravation of making pot roast which meant Mary Margaret had company.

Judging from the way Givens eased his gun from his holster, he'd reached the same conclusion.

We stood there listening to the clanking silverware for what seemed like hours before Givens nodded at me and I pressed the doorbell.

Neither one of us expected the explosion that followed.


	27. A Man, A Plan

Chapter 27 - A Man, A Plan...

When I opened my eyes, I had an oxygen mask over my face and Givens hovering over me. His face looked sunburned and his eyebrows were singed. I didn't have to look in a mirror to know I probably looked worse.

"No point goin' to check on the aunt and sister," he told me grimly.

I swatted the mask aside and sat up, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in my head. Probably I had a concussion. I was too angry to care. "We don't have any more leads," I complained.

There was no hope of finding Benny now. He had no more friends left in the Burg.

That's when the truth hit me.

"This was Nix, wasn't it?"

"Nix or one'a Vito's flunkies, actin' on Nix's orders," Givens said, his accent more pronounced from anger and exhaustion. He fingered the frayed remains of his tie. "Tryin' to draw Benny out."

Family was usually off-limits but if Vito wasn't playing by the rules anymore -

"Karen's movin' your family to a safe house." As if he could read my mind, Givens added, "And Tank picked up the hamsters. Said somethin' about not tempting fate."

"What about Tim?" I asked, deciding my concussion could wait. "Has he found anything?"

Givens exhaled loudly through his nose, the frustration evident. "Yeah, two places burned to the ground. Benny, tryin' to draw Nix out. These two assholes are lookin' to high noon it and they don't care who gets in the way."

"So what do we do now?" I asked him. "I'm out of ideas."

He took my arm and guided me to my feet, eyes focused on the action around us. "Think about it for a sec, Steph. I'll bet you come up with the same idea I have."

Two assholes looking to high noon it. Morelli. Vito. Vito. "We pay Vito another visit."

Givens nodded and smiled at me. "Now you're thinkin'. We grab Vito. Benny'll want him dead, Nix wants to get paid and -"

"Now they'll come after us."

"Lookin' to trade Morelli," he concluded.

Only Givens could make playing chicken with two psychopaths sound perfectly logical. There was only one problem. "Vito's got an army."

"You gonna let that stop you?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Givens pushed Big Blue to its limits as we bore down on Vito's compound, heading for the gates. I could see the bright security lights in the distance. "You don't care about dents in your car, right?"

"This car is indestructible," I reminded him, as I braced myself for the impact. The gates didn't stand a chance and I had a feeling Big Blue wouldn't even get so much as a scratch on the front fender.

There was a screech and then we were fish tailing. "Sonofabitch!"

In the half second it took for me to regain my wits, Givens' gun was out of its holster and the drivers' side door of the black Porsche Cayenne that cut us off flew open. "That's Ranger."

"You don't know that - shit." Givens lowered his gun.

It was Ranger. And Tim.

"Y'all were planning on ramming your way in there with just Raylan's service weapon?" Tim asked with a snort of incredulity. He didn't bother waiting for an answer. "That was gonna go well."

Ranger cut his eyes from Givens to me. "Babe."

"Babe," Tim echoed, mimicking Ranger perfectly. "That's breaking and entering, plus a great big laundry list of shit that'll get Raylan in trouble - which is nothing new to him - but should be enough to make you think twice."

"I was just plannin' on having a word with Vito," Givens protested.

"Well, you can't," Tim said. "Besides, he's not there."

Givens winced and rubbed his eyes. "'Scuse me?"

"He's not there," Tim repeated. "He took off about ten minutes before you got here."

"My men are following him," Ranger added.

"Then why," Givens asked, "are we still standin' here?"

As if reply, another black Cayenne pulled up and Brett hopped out, handing Givens the keys. He didn't pause but hopped into a black Navigator that pulled up a second later.

"Now we can go," Ranger said. "The tracking system is linked to Vito's car and there's a radio so we can stay in contact."

"And there's a tracker so you can track me," Givens added.

Tim smirked. "Well, duh. Just like the one in Stephanie's car. And her handbag. And other places. So don't even think about ditching us, even though I know you already are."

Givens arranged his face into a hurt expression. "Would I do that?"

"You have done that," Tim countered. "More than once. But you're not gonna do that this time, are you?"

"I swear on my star." Givens took my arm and guided me into the Cayenne, whispering in my ear, "I ain't gonna ditch him. We are."

Yikes!


	28. Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City

Chapter 28

"Why would we ditch them?" I asked.

"Gimme your purse." Givens grabbed at it one-handed.

I held the purse out of his reach. "We're not ditching the two people who can help us get Morelli back alive and you're not tossing my purse out the window, either."

"Steph -"

"Good grief, would you listen to yourself?"

He took his eyes off the road and stared at me. "Did I say anything about tossin' your purse out the window? And I know we can't ditch two Army Rangers. Not for long, anyway. But I figured you'd see the logic in not goin' in there with a whole mess of people."

"Going in where?" I pointed at the portable tracking system on the dashboard. It looked like it had been engineered by NASA. "Can you even read that thing?"

"I needed a tissue to wipe the screen," Givens said. "That's why I asked for your purse."

"Here." I held it out to him.

He rolled down the window and tossed my purse out. "Don't worry, Ranger'll pick it up when he passes by."

"Ohmigod."

"Steph, trust me on this." Givens reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "The fastest way to get into a gunfight is to bring guns. We go in there quiet and calm, and we might be able to defuse the situation while Ranger and Tim take care of Vito."

I thought about it for a minute, following his logic. "So while Ranger and Tim intercept Vito, we stop Benny and Nix from killing each other."

"And we rescue Morelli."

"Just like that?"

"Exactly like that." He reached over and pressed a button on the tracking system and it went from an unreadable satellite image to a street map. "Know where this is?"

I squinted at the screen. "No."

"Press the minus button until somethin' looks familiar. Hopefully, when it does, you're not lookin' at a satellite image of the planet."

It took a few clicks. "It looks like they're heading towards Camden."

"Camden," he echoed. "What's that near?"

"Mostly, it's just over the Betsy Ross Bridge from Philly." No sooner had the words come out of my mouth than I realized what I just said. "Which means Nix can kill Morelli and cross over the state line."

"That ain't gonna happen." He sounded so sure of himself that my panic faded. "What else do we know about Camden, Steph? Gimme the lay of the land."

"Ranger probably has a whole write up. You could use the radio -"

"No," Givens said, firmly. "No Ranger." With that, he yanked the special radio from the dashboard and tossed it out the window, severing any chance of contact with Ranger. "We're gonna do this my way. Are you with me, Junior Marshal Plum?"

On the one hand, I knew he got the job done. On the other, I knew he was just as much a disaster as me. Despite his intentions, things were going to be messy. "If I say anything except yes, are you going to throw me out the window, too?"

His gaze swung in my direction again, one eyebrow raised slightly, as if he couldn't believe I could possibly say no.

"Camden got flooded during the hurricane," I told him. "There are a lot of abandoned homes and business, people waiting for FEMA to get its act together. It's also a mostly poor area and it's not far from Atlantic City -"

"Another mob-heavy location. Was there anything in all those files we put together that might give us an idea of whether there's a connection?"

I thought hard. "Wasn't there a tour bus Dion used to meet a church bus in Atlantic City?"

"The bus got torched by Benny."

"The garage where it was kept got torched," I corrected him, "along with the drugs. Dion's bus wasn't there or it would have been in the arson report. The church bus and whoever drives it is also still in one piece."

Givens ignored the signs telling him to take a ticket as we drove onto the Jersey Turnpike and then he ignored the speed limit. "So we've got a delivery of shit comin' into Atlantic City and someone lookin' for one last payday."

"Nix," I said. "He has no ties to Jersey but he does have ties to the Dixie Mafia. Or at least he did until they exiled him here."

"So he's plannin' on rippin' off Wynn Duffy and blaming it on Vito."

"Cripes."

"Cripes is right. Vito's walkin' into a trap."

"What?"

"Remember I said Nicky Irrizarry in Jersey City wasn't gonna be happy about Vito reachin' out to Theo Tonin?" Givens cut his eyes to me. "My guess is, Nicky and Theo came to an understanding."

"Ohmigod."

"With Vito dead, Duffy's got nobody to go after," Givens went on. "Nix gets away clean."

"Unless Benny gets him first," I countered. This was getting too convoluted.

"Benny's job is to take out Vito. He's workin' for Nicky now."

"I thought he was going to high noon it with Nix."

"Benny doesn't have to be there to start the fire," Givens reminded me. "So while Ranger and Tim are watchin' Vito get barbecued, Benny's goin' after Nix -"

"Who's going after the drugs."

"And who knows Benny's comin' for him."

"High noon," we said in unison.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting pulled over was inevitable.

Speeding on the Turnpike was expected but speeding through the EZ Pass lane onto the Atlantic City Expressway was not something the State Troopers were going to let pass, especially at almost four in the morning and particularly when the offending vehicle was a Cayenne.

Givens ignored the flashing lights behind us for nearly two minutes. When a second Trooper joined the first and their sirens started blaring, he swore loudly and pulled over.

Like any good citizen, I expected him to wait in the car.

Instead, Givens flung open his door, badge in hand. "U.S. Marshals!"

The Troopers pulled their weapons. "Stay where you are."

"Goddamnit," Givens called to them. "I've got a situation. I don't have time for this bullsh-"

"Did you guys see any tour buses come this way?" I interrupted, crawling across the seat and poking my head out of the driver's side.

The Troopers kept their eyes on Givens but one of them answered, "Buses come through here all the time."

"At this hour?" Givens demanded, hand on hip, picking up on my cue as if we'd discussed it ahead of time. "Don't make us ask again, Trooper."

"Just one, maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago." This Trooper sounded young, eager to please. "You want us to set up a roadblock, marshal?"

Givens lowered his badge and nodded. "Block off the Betsy Ross," he said, glancing at me for confirmation of the name of the bridge. "My guy is going to try to skip the state."

"What was the name on the bus?" I asked.

The younger Trooper hesitated. "Something success. It was green. We can radio ahead -"

"Track it but don't stop it," Givens instructed and then recited his cell number, climbing back into the driver's seat. He cut his eyes to me. "Good thinking, Junior Marshal Plum."

"We're looking for a tour bus in Atlantic City. That's like looking for a drop of water in the ocean."

"Now we know what we're looking for."

And I suddenly realized who we were looking for. I smacked my forehead with the heel of my hand. "Unh! Levi's girlfriend!"

"Steph?" Givens cut his eyes to me. "What is it?"

"We found Levi Spinelli at his girlfriend's house in Cherry Hill!"

He shook his head. "I'm not followin' you."

"Cherry Hill is in Camden County." I turned to him. "Levi hid the tour bus there."

"Okay, but Levi is dead, so who's drivin' the bus?"

I thought about it. Rivka Friedman, Levi's girlfriend, didn't seem like the criminal mastermind type. "It has to be our leak."

"I think it's Morelli."

"Morelli's not the leak! How can you even -"

"I'm not." Givens turned to me with a grin. "Think about it. Would Morelli ever end up anybody's hostage? I'm guessing he figured out about the bus and he's plannin' on taking down Nix."

I shook my head. "Morelli would call for backup."

"We're his backup. He knows we'd come after him."

Would Morelli be that reckless? I thought of his stupid rivalry with Givens and what Morelli was like in high school. Yeah, Morelli could be that reckless. But he knew better. Probably he called Karen for backup by now. Morelli knew better than to think of me as backup.

Then again, he knew Givens' reputation better than I did.

He wouldn't think of me as backup. He'd think of Givens.

I swallowed hard as the bright lights of the casinos appeared.

A billboard welcomed us and invited us to "Do AC."

"Ready to do AC?" Givens asked.

"Damn skippy."


	29. High Noon at the Wild Wild West

Chapter 29

If you've ever played Monopoly, you'd know just about every street in Atlantic City. Ruth Hoskins based her version of the game on her home town and that version became famous world wide when Parker Brothers mass produced the game. We emerged onto the strip and had just passed the Trump Taj Mahal when Givens' cell phone rang.

There was a brief exchange of words and then he turned to me, looking grim. "Any idea where the Wild Wild West casino is?"

"It's part of Bally's," I told him. "Ohio Avenue by the Boardwalk."

"That's by the water, ain't it?" Before I could answer, Givens followed his train of thought to its conclusion. "I'd wager that casino is closed which means two buses might idle there but not attract attention."

"Won't we stick out like a sore thumb?"

"You think Nix and Benny aren't expectin' us?"

"Do you still want to go in there calmly?" I asked.

He grinned and it was a grin that unnerved the hell out of me. "Absolutely. Calm and armed with a shotgun."

Xxxxxxxxc

Atlantic City, like Las Vegas, had twenty four hour casinos. Unlike Vegas, the streets were pretty much deserted at this hour. Even the hard core gamblers were tucked in their beds. We pulled into the parking lot and there was the green tour bus, idling in the empty lot.

My heart skipped a beat.

"It's empty," Givens told me. "Morelli'd never sit in a great big oil' flammable target. He's staked out in the hotel and probably gettin' ready to sock me in the jaw for bringin' you with me."

Givens was probably right. "Aren't we sitting in a flammable target?"

"We're a secondary target."

To prove his point, there was a PHOONF and then the tour bus exploded.

A second later, there was an explosion inside the Wild Wild West.

"High noon," Givens said dryly. "Nix rigged the casino while Benny was settin' up his firebombs."

My mouth dropped open but no sound came out.

"Morelli read the files. He knows Nix worked with security systems and can set up motion detectors and shit. He knows Benny's rep, too." Reaching behind the seat, Givens pulled out a shotgun and handed it to me. "Take cover while I go in there. The church bus probably is gonna keep goin' when the driver sees the deal's gone sideways but if he don't, arrest him."

I stared at the shotgun. "I don't like guns."

Givens' mouth twisted into a grin that scared the crap out me me. "You like presents?"

"Huh?"

"I'm giving you that shotgun, Steph. What would your mama say if she heard you complainin' about my present?" He clucked his tongue. "I reckon she'd be real disappointed in your manners."

"But -"

"And I'd be real hurt if you don't use the present I picked out for you."

"But -"

"Morelli's countin' on you." He got out of the Cayenne and straightened. "He's in there, waitin' for me to help him shut down Nix and Benny and he expects you to have my back. I know you have my back, Steph. I trust you."

At least one of us did.

Xxxxxxxx

There weren't too many places to take cover in the parking lot. My options were going closer to the casino or heading for the dumpsters at the far end of the lot. Since there had been two more explosions after Givens went inside, I decided the dumpsters were my best bet. Besides, with the casino out of commission, the likelihood of the dumpsters being full of smelly garbage was pretty low.

The problem was getting to the dumpsters. They were about 300 yards away, which meant I was a target until I got there. Driving over wasn't an option, since the Cayenne was just a bigger target.

I could do this, I told myself. 300 yards wasn't that far and I wasn't completely out of shape. My concussion wasn't too bad. Yeah, I could do it. If Morelli and Givens could go after bad guys in a booby trapped casino, I could run across a parking lot.

Properly psyched, I jogged across the lot and made it to the dumpsters. I had just finished congratulating myself when I heard the sound of a safety click behind me.

Uh-oh.


	30. Fire, Ice, and Plums

Chapter 30

"Put the shotgun down. Slowly." I knew that voice. Fletcher Nix.

"It was a present-"

"Your boyfriend the marshal's gonna be too dead to care," Nix hissed. "Drop it and face me."

"He's not my boyfriend." I turned slowly, still clutching the shotgun and winced.

Nix' face was burned and it looked like somebody hit him in the jaw. Hard. His lower lip was swollen and so was his eye. I could only hope Morelli caused some of the damage.

There was another explosion inside the casino and for just a fraction of a second, Nix was distracted. I'd let this weasel get away once before. That wasn't going to happen again.

Drawing on my inner badass fake marshal, I swung the shotgun like a baseball bat and caught him on the temple. Nix staggered and the gun clattered out of his hand. I kicked it across the parking lot with my CAT boot, aiming the shotgun at him. "Hands in the air, asshole."

Instead of surrendering, Nix grunted and lunged at me. We went down hard on the pavement, the two of us wrestling for the shotgun. Nix elbowed me in the stomach and I let go of the shotgun. He snickered and started to get up so he could shoot me with it but I kicked his legs out from under him. That's when I went into killer survival mode.

I started punching, gouging and kicking Nix. He managed to tug his ice pick out of his jacket and we wrestled for it. I felt the sharp edge catch my arm and that's when I really went berserk. By the time two strong hands pulled me off of Nix, we were both bloody but the ice pick was in my hand.

"Babe," Ranger said.

"Babe," Tim echoed, kicking Nix onto his stomach and snapping on a pair of handcuffs. "Good thing you're not really a marshal because kicking the crap out of a fugitive like this tends to get you suspended without pay."

There was another explosion inside the casino and now most of it was on fire. The first fire truck was just pulling up and more could be heard coming up the street.

"Ohmigod!" I took a step towards the casino but Ranger pulled me back. "Let me go! Morelli and Givens are in there!"

Ranger shook his head and for a moment, I panicked, thinking the worst. Then he tapped an earpiece. "They're on their way out and they have Benny. Tank's got them."

There was a roar and the casino's roof collapsed.

I screamed.

And that's when I saw Morelli. He waved at me and then collapsed in the arms of a fireman.

Givens staggered for a moment longer, saluted me, and then joined Morelli.

Since it seemed like passing out was okay, I joined them

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Epilogue

Karen strode into the Saint Francis emergency room, flanked by a pair of marshals, her heels clicking on the tile floor. She waved them off and approached Givens first, dropping a set of keys into his hands. "That's your new Town Car. You can pick it up when you come by my office to file your reports. You look like hell, by the way."

Morelli was sitting on the edge of my bed and his grip on my hand tightened as Karen approached. "My report is getting filed with Trenton PD."

Her gaze locked onto our entwined hands and her mouth set. "You'll be glad to know we traced the leak and -"

"Nix killed him," Morelli cut her off. "He bragged about it when he came to kill Levi."

"And you," Karen added, softly. "Tell me, Morelli, how did you manage to get out of that?"

Morelli grinned mischievously. "I'm from Trenton. And I'm a Morelli."

Givens and I exchanged glances and rolled our eyes. We heard the real story from Morelli while we were being patched up. Nix' gun jammed and since his ice pick was embedded in Levi's hand, he didn't have any other weapon. Morelli started to beat the crap out of Nix but Nix managed to pull the ice pick out of Levi and stab Morelli in the thigh with it and escape. It didn't take him long to put the pieces together after that and head down to retrieve the tour bus.

"Plum," Karen said, exasperation creeping into her voice, "I want that badge back."

"I gave it back to its rightful owner," I said.

She nodded. "Fine. If I ever catch you pretending to be a marshal again, I'm going to have you locked up."

"She won't have to pretend," Givens told her. "Steph's gonna apply when they lift that hiring freeze."

Karen stiffened and her eyes narrowed at me. Then she plastered on that fake smile that never failed to scare the crap out of me. "If you do Plum, let me know. I'll be sure to put a word in for you."

There was a long pause while she waited for me to say something but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Besides, I had a concussion, bruised ribs, a fat lip and no paycheck to cover the hospital bill. It wasn't like I was coming out of this on top.

She turned and started to walk out when Morelli called after her, "Stephanie and I are getting married. I hope you can make it for the wedding. Raylan's going to be my best man."

Karen froze. Then she stalked out without looking back.

I blew out a relieved breath.

"I wasn't kidding," Morelli said to me.

Uh-oh. Was this another half-assed proposal? Maybe I could pretend it wasn't happening. Maybe -

"You gotta get down on one knee," Givens instructed.

"I have a hole in my leg," Morelli complained.

Yes! Givens was distracting him!

"Then do something romantic." Givens got shakily to his feet and pulled off his horseshoe ring. "Here. Borrow this."

No! Oh no! Spots danced in front of my eyes and my monitor started to beep like crazy as I began to panic.

"Thanks, Raylan." Morelli took the ring and slipped it on my finger, holding it in place. "Stephanie Plum, will you marry me?"

The End...for now.

xxxxx

Looking for more of Stephanie's adventures in Harlan? The latest is a collaboration between AndItsOutta Here and me under the author name PlumJustified. We're waiting for you. :-)


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